


The best of what's around

by Builder



Series: Originals [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Collaboration, Drug Abuse, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Vomiting, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 07:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14563656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Troy doesn't mean to end up on the side of the road with a flat tire and the shakes.  He's grateful when a couple of good Samaritans pick him up.And eventually Julian and Ozzy are pretty grateful too.A collaboration with my good buddy @anonyony1 from tumblr.





	The best of what's around

**Author's Note:**

> Find us on Tumblr : Lux (@anonyony1) and me (Laur, @builder051)

 

When the mustang starts to drift to the right, Troy just yanks on the steering wheel and keeps driving.  He knows the tire’s going flat, but the effort of getting out of the car and changing it is more than he wants to give.  He takes a second and considers the damage driving on it will do. Usually the slightest scratch to the classic car lights a protective fire in him, but today Troy’s not sure he cares.  He took the last pill in his stash yesterday after lunch, and he’s been feeling off since breakfast this morning. He has another 150 miles to go before he’ll be able to score some more.

 

Eventually, though, Troy has no choice but to pull over.  The accelerator starts to feel like it’s sticking, and his arm shakes with the effort of staying in his lane.  He eases the mustang onto the shoulder and cuts the engine, then gets out to assess the damage. The front tire on the passenger side looks like it’s melting into a puddle on the pavement.  A nail is visible between the treads. 

 

“Dammit,” Troy mutters.  He pushes his stump against the palm of his hand and lets out his breath in a huff as he pops the trunk.  He leans the spare against the back bumper and surveys the assortment of tools. It’s been years since he’s had to do this, and when his dad taught him the basics, he’d still had two hands to work with.  

 

***

 

“Your driving is still shit,” Julian says to Ozzy as they make their way down the highway. Ozzy smirks, grabbing his fast food cup for a drink. They weave a bit, bumping as the tires hit the rumble strip. Julian covers his face, fully expecting for Ozzy to run them off the side of the road, but he pulls them back into the center of the lane just in time.

 

“You drive worse than my great grandma,” Julian says, “And she’s dead!”

 

Ozzy laughs, but then squints in the distance. It’s the first time he’s seen another sign of life in a while.

 

“Looks like someone’s having car trouble,” Ozzy says, and Julian uncovers his face too look, too. 

 

“Should we pull over? They probably won’t have any other offer of help for hours,” Ozzy asks. Julian shrugs as Ozzy makes an executive decision, flicking on his blinker and pulling off on the shoulder behind the car.

 

“Hey!” Ozzy shouts out of the window, “Do you need help?”

 

“Huh?”  Troy tries not to fall backwards as he quickly stands up from his squat.  He holds the wrench loosely in his trembling hand. He’d managed to get the hubcap off, but removing the tire is proving to be impossible.  He isn’t sure what is exactly the problem is, but somewhere between his weak grip and flighty brain he’d started to go wrong. 

 

Troy squints at the boy in the other car.  The sun’s too bright for him to be able to make out features, but it’s not someone he recognizes.  “I’m alright,” Troy says. The last thing he wants is to look helpless in front of a stranger. As he bends back toward the tire, a stab of pain blooms between his eyes, and the wrench clatters to the ground.

 

Julian shrugs at Ozzy, “He says he doesn’t want any help, let’s just go, Oz…”

 

But Ozzy is frowning, watching as the man struggles with the tools and his flat tire. He notices that one of his hands is missing and he shakes his head. He pushes open the door without warning and climbs out. 

 

“Ozzy,  _ what are you doing?” _ Julian hisses out of the window, not wanting to get killed on the side of the road like in the movies.

 

“I’m helping him, he needs help,” Ozzy says back. He walks away from the car after slamming the door behind himself.

 

Julian mutters a curse, closing his eyes before pushing open his own door and climbing out, too.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Ozzy asks, walking up behind the man. 

 

“Yeah,” Troy says.  He blinks hard and picks up the wrench.  He presses it against his thigh and tries to get his bearings.  Balancing in a squat is becoming more challenging than it should be.  He wants to stand up again, but that would look stupid. Counterproductive.  And he’s not sure he’ll be that much more stable fully upright either. 

 

He settles for using the elbow of his stump arm to lean against the car door.  “It’s nice of y’all to stop, but I think I got it. I just need a minute to...figure things out.”  Troy wipes the thin sheen of sweat from his brow, and the wrench slips off his knee and onto the street again.  “Damn,” he mutters under his breath.

 

Ozzy frowns for a moment, unsure of whether to pick it up and help, or let the man do it alone. He shifts his weight on his feet, glancing as Julian walks up behind him in the gravel. 

 

“You sure? It’s just really hot out here, and… you know, there’s not another place to stop for a couple of hours, so there might not be a lot of traffic coming this way…” Ozzy says. He finally bends down and grabs the wrench and offers it to him.

 

“Thanks.”  Troy takes the tool and looks over the bolts holding the tire.  He can’t remember which one he’d already loosened. Having an audience isn’t helping his already poor concentration.  

 

“I’ll get this figured out,” he drawls slowly.  “It’s just…” Troy’s words taper off as a wave of dizziness spawns from the ache in his forehead.  He feels like he’s tipping over, so he hastily adjusts stump arm on the car before he realizes he isn’t actually moving.  Heat from embarrassment combines with the afternoon’s humid warmth, and fresh sweat trickles down from his hairline. 

 

“Sorry,” Troy says.

 

“You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good,” Ozzy asks, trying to remember if he has water bottles leftover from the soccer games in Porter’s car. He glances at Julian, who is more than a little tense, although now worried as well.  He tries to decide if he remembers how to change a tire in the first place; it’s been ages since he learned how.

 

Troy takes a steadying breath.  His back hurts from hunching over the tire, and in the time he’s been out in the sun, he’s gotten heated enough to feel downright feverish.  He decides to risk standing all the way up, and he’s dizzy again by the time he gets to his full height. 

 

“I’m…” Troy starts.  He’s going to say he’s ok again.  And by all accounts, he should be.  He’s changed a tire before. He’s been this deep into withdrawal before.  Hell, he’s gotten clean before. This should be nothing. And these strangers don’t want to hear his sob story. “Well, I’m…”  Troy shakes his head an inch to each side. “I don’t know.”

 

“Why don’t you sit down for a minute? The AC is going in our car,” Ozzy suggests, and Julian doesn’t react out of politeness. Even if he thinks they’re going to have their car jacked, he won’t say anything for fear of embarrassing Ozzy. 

 

Troy hesitates.  The smart thing to do would be to say yes and take the breather.  Then maybe he’d have a chance to get his head back on straight. But there’s a good chance sitting for a while isn’t going to make him feel any better.  His stomach is beginning to pick up reverberations from the throb in his head. A drip that’s part sweat and part musous shivers at the end of his nose. Troy wipes it with the back of his hand and says, “That’s, well, I don’t want to hold y’all up.  If you’re on your way somewhere.”

 

Ozzy looks back at Julian, who finally speaks up.

 

“We’re not headed anywhere in a hurry,” he says, “Actually, I could use a break from this one’s driving,” he teases. Ozzy rolls his eyes at the slight but smiles now that Julian is opening up to helping the poor guy.

 

“I think I have some water, too, if you want,” Ozzy says.

 

Troy thinks back, trying to recall the last time he drank something.  The memory of the pill sliding down his throat almost 24 hours ago surfaces uninvited.  He shakes it off. “Yeah, that would probably be wise,” Troy says. 

 

“Great,” Ozzy says. He offers a look to Julian, who is studying the tire and the tools as he stands with his arms crossed.

 

“I’ll take care of this while you rest,” Julian finally  tells him, having now decided that he remembers how to change a tire.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Troy tries to insist.  He moves the wrench and his clasped fist behind his back as the other young man approaches with a bottle of water.  “I’ll get it here in a minute.” But even as he says it, he feels himself sway on his feet.

 

Ozzy reaches out a hand, steadying the stranger.

 

“Whoa there, okay, why don’t you just sit down? We’ll worry about the car in a minute,” he reasons, hoping the man will accept.

 

“I’m Ozzy, this is Julian, by the way,” Ozzy says then, realizing he’s skipped over introductions.

 

“I’m Troy,” Troy replies.  He starts to hold out his hand, but he’s still grasping the wrench, and Ozzy’s already gripping his arm.  “Good to meet you guys.” His vertigo continues to spike as he speaks, and his stomach sloshes uneasily. 

 

This cannot be happening, not now, not when he’s stopped on the side of the road with some guys he’s barely met.  He should have thought this through better. He shouldn’t have taken his last dose yesterday, knowing he had a long drive ahead of him.  He shouldn’t have started taking Oxy again in the first place. 

 

But there’s nothing Troy can do about it now.  The best he can manage is to turn away from Ozzy and press the back of his hand over his mouth to quiet a sick hiccup.

 

Ozzy grimaces, but continues to steady Troy.

 

“You okay?” Ozzy asks. He thinks he’s asking too many questions, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s not sure whether Troy wants him to continue touching him or not. They didn’t know him at all, afterall. 

 

Julian holds out the water bottle, offering it to Troy. He looks extremely unwell now.

 

Troy eyes the water, but there’s no way he’ll manage a sip of it now.  He pulls away from Ozzy and leans on the door of his mustang instead as the next hiccup turns to a gag.  He clumsily pushes his hair behind his ear with his stump. He retches again and his mostly digested breakfast splatters to the pavement.  “I am...so sorry,” he chokes.

 

Ozzy shakes his head, doing everything to hide his disgust at the sight and smell. “Don’t apologize, do you have a bug or something? I think it’s going around.”

 

Julian squints, though he says nothing, he kind of has a sneaking suspicion of what is happening with their new friend. He’s been there before.

 

Troy coughs.  He’s shaking harder now; even his teeth are chattering.  He forces the cogs in his brain to turn as he considers how to answer.  He could take the easy out and just say yes. But the lie isn’t worth it.  He doesn’t have the energy. “Naw,” Troy says. He swallows hard. “It’s...something else.”

 

Julian frowns. The shaking made it even clearer. 

 

“You should sit down before you get sick again,” Ozzy urges, leading the way to their car. He pops open the front seat and turns the AC on full blast. “You were  _ driving _ like this?”

 

“Well, yeah…”  Troy shakes his head.  It seems stupid now. “It’s just a couple hours back to the university.  I thought I could make it.” He sits in the passenger seat and leans into the headrest.  His knees still quiver even though the weight’s off his legs.

 

Ozzy bites the inside of his cheek, not sure how to proceed. Troy looks terrible, and he is clearly in no shape to be driving. Ozzy’s not even sure if he feels comfortable leaving him alone in this state. 

 

“Why don’t you try just a bit of the water?” Ozzy urges. Troy looks ready to pass out at any moment.

 

“I don’t know,” Troy waffles.  He knows he should. “Once I get it, I usually get it bad, if you get my drift.”  He feels himself flush with embarrassment, though he wonders if looks anything but pale at this point.  

 

“Yeah, you look really sick,” Ozzy says, he shifts his weight from foot to foot before holding a hand up. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He turns on his heels towards Julian, who is still studying the tire.

 

“We can’t leave him here, he looks like he’s gonna fall out,” Ozzy says, and Julian squints under the sun. He wipes a hand over the sweat that’s collected on his forehead.

 

“Oz, we don’t even know him. Where are we gonna take him?” he asks, holding his hands against his hips. 

 

Ozzy shrugs, “We can take him back to the house, we’re only an hour or so away.”

 

Julian wants to laugh, not believing how ready and willing Ozzy is to bring a total withdrawing stranger back to their house. He shrugs, though.

 

“I’m gonna change the tire, do you wanna ask him if that’s okay?” Julian asks, “Either way we can’t let him drive like that.”

 

Ozzy grins, glad Julian has gotten on board, then he turns and walks back towards Troy and the car.

 

“Hey, um, Troy? Julian says he can change the tire if you’ll let him,” Ozzy says first, gauging how receptive Troy is to help now that he’s sat down for a moment.

 

Troy looks down at the wrench still in his hand.  “Oh. Um…” He’s probably not going to be able to do it himself, as much as he’d like to.  At least not for a while. The reality of the situation is setting in, and it’s not looking good.  If a miracle happens and he’s able to pull himself together a little, he’ll need his car in working order if he wants to escape.  “That’s real nice of you.” He holds out the wrench, and swaps it for the bottle of water.

 

Ozzy smiles, finally feeling as though he’s getting somewhere with Troy. He takes the wrench in his hand and walks back across the gravel to Julian, who is crouched down beside the car now. 

 

“He okay?” Julian asks, wiping the sweat from his brow once more. Ozzy shrugs, handing the wrench to him.

 

“I’m gonna ask him if he’ll come take some time at the house before he gets back on the road. Can you drive his car, if he does?” Ozzy asks. He knows the weight of what he’s asking Julian to do already. 

 

“Ozzy, I don’t dr-” he starts, but Ozzy interrupts him with a sigh. “He’s sick, he’s not going to be able to drive tonight.” 

 

Julian rolls his neck with a sigh before finally shrugging, “See what he says.”

Ozzy nods, trekking back to the car once more. He feels as though he’s playing middle man. 

 

“How are you feeling?” he asks Troy.

 

Troy has the water bottle between his knees, having managed to get the cap off but not much else.  His entire body aches, and the blast from the air conditioner, as nice as it feels, makes goosebumps stand up on his arms.  “I’ve, uh, been a lot better,” he says. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand and lifts the water to his lips. 

 

He needs to be honest with Ozzy, since he’s being so considerate.  Troy knows how his body handles detox, and this isn’t going to be over in a few hours like a bout of food poisoning.  He can only imagine the truth is going to get him kicked back to the side of the road, though. He takes a long sip of water while he weighs his options, though he knows it’s probably not going to stay down.

 

“Um, well hey, our house is just under an hour away,” Ozzy says, “you don’t really seem to be in the shape to be traveling right now. You’re welcome to recover at our place, if you want. It’s not too fancy, but there’s a bed for you.” He feels slightly worried that Troy will be put off by this, and he quickly adds, “You don’t have to, but, you know…” he trails off, gripping the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

Troy swallows hard.  “Listen,” he says, balancing the water bottle on his knee to keep the quavering of his hand from becoming a focal point.  With everything that Ozzy’s offering, he can’t not tell him now. “I, uh, I messed up. I’m sick, but, well, I’m drying out,” Troy admits.  He keeps his eyes trained downward. His hair escapes into his eyes again, forming a curtain of embarrassed privacy. “If you want to take it back, I understand.”

 

Ozzy blinks, considering the outcomes of this. He is normally a good judge of character, and he doesn’t feel like Troy is a threat. Hell, Max had spent nearly a week sweating out his own vices at their house. Ozzy shrugs.

 

“I’m not gonna take it back, you’re welcome to rest up at our place. We’re not gonna just leave you this way,” he says finally. Julian had always told Ozzy his kindness was going to get him killed one day, but he was certain Troy was harmless, albeit sick and perhaps a bit hesitant. 

 

“You’re a good man,” Troy says.  He takes a breath to force down a hiccup.  “I really thought I’d be able to get back to school before this all kicked in…”  He gestures vaguely at himself with his stump. “But all I can do now is move forward.

 

“Well,” Ozzy says, “we all mess up sometimes. But what you do after that is the most important part. I think that might have been on an inspirational poster I read somewhere,” he laughs slightly, leaning his back against the car. “It’ll be okay, though, once you get it out of your system. The detox is the worst part,” he says. 

 

He’s thinking of his mom now, and wondering if Troy would get nearly as bad as she did. He bites his lip, “Is it okay for Julian to drive your car?”

 

Troy smiles weakly.  “Yeah, sure. He better be nice to it, though.”  He lifts the water bottle again automatically, but decides his stomach can’t take any more fluids.  He looks around for somewhere to put it, then awkwardly nestles it into the cupholder. Troy worries for a moment about the impression he’s making on Ozzy, but rising nausea takes precedence.  He moves his feet back outside the car and works his way to standing. “Sorry, I feel real sick again.”

 

Ozzy steps out of the way but holds the door open for Troy.

 

“It’s okay, maybe the water was a little too much right now,” Ozzy suggests.  “Get it up if you need to.” He’s not going to grimace, he decides that then and there.

 

Troy moves a few steps away from the car and bends over with his hand braced on his knee.  Saliva floods his mouth, but he doesn’t want to swallow. His throat feels tight anyway. He lets it drip onto the sidewalk, and the visual makes him feel sicker.  His spine arches as he retches. The first heave is dry, then the water he drank splashes back up. 

 

His eyes and nose are streaming by the time he’s done, but Troy feels like he’ll fall if he moves.  He leaves his hand pressed into his leg and wipes at his face with his stump. It doesn’t do much, so he turns to use his shoulder instead.  He’s turning into a mess. 

 

He wants to sit back down so the vertigo clashing around his skull will go away, but he knows he’ll start to feel antsy a few minutes after he does.  He doesn’t have much choice, though. Troy coughs and spits to clear his mouth, then cautiously straightens up and shuffles back to Ozzy and the car.

 

Ozzy frowns at Troy’s deteriorating state. He hears Julian mumbling curse words from afar as he finally drops the wrench. Ozzy glances over his shoulder, seeing that Julian’s finally finished with the tire. He’s covered in sweat now and looking exceptionally annoyed as he wipes his now-greasy hands on his shorts, walking up towards the others. He crosses his arms over his chest, pleased with himself but at the same time still disgruntled from the ordeal with the tire.

  
“Troy, do you wanna lay down in the back? Maybe you can get some rest while we drive,” Ozzy suggests, perhaps overly optimistic that Troy would be able to get any rest any time soon.

 

“I, um, I can try,” Troy says.  It finally occurs to him that he should be wary about going home with strangers, even kind ones.  But he can’t help but trust them. Julian might be annoyed with the situation, but he’s still done as much as Ozzy has to help him.  And Troy’s already made such a mess of his life. It would probably serve him right if he ended up kidnapped or worse. It’s not the vibe he gets, though, and Troy pushes the thought from his mind as he shakily reaches for the door to the backseat.

 

Julian’s nervous, Ozzy can tell. He swallows down a mouthful of water and lets out a sigh.

 

“It’s going to be fine, just follow behind me,” Ozzy assures him quietly, and Julian looks up at the sky. He’s a bit embarrassed and hoping their company didn’t hear. “It’s fine,” he says quickly. He leans down and kisses Ozzy’s forehead. “See you guys at the house,” he says, heading off towards the mustang.

 

Ozzy climbs into the front seat and pulls his seatbelt on.

 

“How’s your stomach?” he asks, glancing in the rear-view mirror. He’s wondering if they have any sort of receptacle for Troy to use.

 

“Well, I’m ok right now,” Troy says.  He curls onto his side and cushions his head on his arm.  “But, like I said, I don’t know when it’s gonna die down for good.”  He takes a breath. “It’s always kinda like this, though. A test or a track meet or just about anything’ll do it.”  Troy laughs uncomfortably. He’s probably just given too much information Ozzy doesn’t want or need to hear.

 

“Weak stomach, huh?” Ozzy asks, pulling the car into drive finally as he moves back onto the road. He tries to keep it as steady as possible, not wanting to jostle Troy too much.

 

“Yeah, kinda,” Troy admits.  He’d be mortified if he wasn’t so uncomfortable.  The throb in his head matches the rhythm of his heartbeat, making it seem like his whole body is adrift in a river of achiness.

 

“Same here,” Ozzy says, “but let me know if you need to pull over or anything, okay?” He’s back on the road now, driving at a steady 70 miles an hour. He glances into the rear view seeing Julian just behind him. He then takes a quick look at Troy. He bites his lip, hoping they’ll make it home without incident. Wishful thinking, he imagines, but he’s hopeful nonetheless. 

 

“Ok.”  Troy tells himself he’ll be fine, that he won’t need to impose on Ozzy any more than he already has.  He’s already forgotten how long he’d said the drive was back to the house. Troy can’t keep his thoughts still any easier than he can keep his limbs from shaking.  

 

He opens and shuts his eyes a few times, gauging whether the spinning in his head decreases when he can’t see his surroundings.  It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, so Troy feigns sleep until the churning in his stomach rises to the point that he grits his teeth.  He’s been ok for so long, they have to be almost there. Troy takes deep breaths and stares hard at the back of the driver’s seat. 

 

The car goes over a small bump, and suddenly Troy’s throat constricts.  Sweat beads on his upper lip, and dizziness assaults him even though he’s lying down.  “Hey, Ozzy…?” Troy asks weakly. He holds his fist over his mouth.

 

Ozzy glances in the rear-view mirror. It’s the first time Troy’s said anything in over half an hour. He sees his fist pressed over his lips and he doesn’t need further explanation. He puts on his blinker so Julian knows he’s pulling off. The tires hit the gravel and he pulls to a stop on the shoulder. He climbs out of the car quickly and hurries to pull the door open for Troy.

 

Troy crawls out of the car.  He wants to say thank you to Ozzy, but he can’t.  He’s gagging again as soon as his feet are on the ground.  There’s nothing to bring up though. Ragged dry retches tear through him, stealing his breath and making him even more unsteady.  It’s a waste of time and energy, but his body doesn’t seem to understand that. “God damn,” Troy breathes. 

 

Ozzy grimaces, but not because he’s disgusted, because the retches sound terribly painful. He questions himself for a moment but reaches out a hand and places it on Troy’s back. He doesn’t know how he’ll react, but he hates the feeling of just standing there uselessly.

 

Just knowing someone’s there with him makes Troy’s choked inhales come a little easier.  Any more touch would be overwhelming, but the light pat on his back solidifies his earlier judgement that Ozzy’s a good guy.  A good friend. 

 

“Ugh, sorry,” Troy spits.  “This is… I don’t even know.  It’s gotta be about as bad to watch as it is for me…”

 

Ozzy scoffs, “Well, I’d rather be on my end.” He worries about the lack of water in Troy’s stomach. Julian is out of the car now, he approaches with a frown.

 

“Feeling sick again?” Julian asks.

 

“Yeah…”  Troy isn’t sure why he answers, since the empty heave that tears up his throat next is evidence enough.  He feels more pressure to get himself back under control now that he’s got an audience of two. “But...I’ll be alright.”

 

Julian doesn’t believe him. He knows  _ exactly _ the hell Troy is feeling right now. He nods, though.

“We’re only about twenty minutes away from the exit now,” Julian says, hoping this will offer some relief to him.

 

“I think I’ll be ok for that long,” Troy says, wiping his mouth and starting to edge back toward the car.  His stomach’s calmed enough that he can feel his headache mounting. 

 

Julian glances at Ozzy, hoping they’ll be able to make it quickly. He doesn’t see any sick on the ground and hums. 

 

“He needs to keep drinking water,” he says lowly, “when we get back, though.”

 

He walks away to the mustang and Ozzy climbs back into the driver’s seat.

 

“Just a little longer,” Ozzy promises, pulling the car back into drive and veering back onto the road.

 

Troy nods, though Ozzy can’t see him.  He doesn’t feel much better, but he’s fairly sure he can power through.  And even if he does lose it, it’s not like there’s anything for him to throw up.  He pinches the bridge of his nose and goes back to taking deep, measured breaths.

 

Ozzy continues to drive down the road for several miles before he starts to recognize his surroundings. They’re only a few minutes from the exit. He wonders if Troy’s fallen asleep. He hasn’t said a word since they started back driving. 

 

Finally, he sees the exit and turns on the blinker, pulling off the highway. He turns down the road off the exit and after a couple of minutes, he’s in their neighborhood. He doesn’t hate driving any less than he did before, and he wonders how Julian fared. He pulls up in the front yard and puts the car into park.

 

“Hey, we’re here,” he says over his shoulder.

 

“Alright,” Troy murmurs.  “Ok, good.” He fumbles above his head for the door handle, then squirms himself up while trying not to move his head too much.  He’s groggy even though he hadn’t really fallen asleep. His aches as badly as it would if he had the flu. He remembers the last time he got this far into withdrawal.  It felt just as bad, but he’d had his mom and sister at his side the whole time to ensure he made it through. For better or for worse, this go round is sure to be different.  

 

Ozzy closes the car door and leads Troy to the front door. He wrangles with his keys for a moment before finding the proper one. He finally unlocks the door and pushes it open. Julian joins the pair of them, having parked the mustang on the side of the house.

 

“Home sweet home,” Ozzy says, leading the way inside. He flicks the light on and lays down his keys.

 

“What do you need right now?” Julian asks Troy, surprising Ozzy by speaking up in the first place.

 

Troy sighs and grips his stump in his hand.  “I don’t know…” He’s torn between feelings of shame and outright illness.  “My head’s bad, my stomach’s bad.” He gives a dry laugh. “I need a damn painkiller, but that’s what the problem is in the first place…”  His head throbs hard enough to make his eyes water.

 

Julian nods, “We’ve got some Pepto for your stomach. I can’t promise it’ll help, but it’s worth a shot.”  He remembers laying on the bathroom floor of his college dorm, writhing in pain from the cramps. He shudders.  “Do you wanna try?” he asks. Ozzy grins at how Julian is now taking over. He’s relieved to know he’s not mad at him for getting them into this.

 

“At this point, I’ll try just about anything.”  Troy swallows hard, willing himself not to start gagging in the middle of the kitchen.  The edges of his vision are beginning to blur, and the short walk from the car into the house has his heart pounding.  Troy wonders what he was thinking earlier, getting in the car when he knew this was coming. “I think...I need to sit.”

 

Ozzy nods, clearing the blankets and pillows from the couch.

 

“Here, take a seat,” Ozzy says then. Julian begins to gather supplies. He grabs the Pepto and water from the kitchen and a small trash can from the laundry room. He lines it with a new grocery bag before returning to the living room. 

 

“Do you want, like, some sweatpants or something?” He thinks for a second before adding, “You don’t have to say no to be polite, I know that you feel like hell right now,” Julian sits the wastebasket on the floor. He doesn’t mean it to be rude, but he wonders if that’s how it comes across. 

 

“Thanks,”  Troy sinks into the couch.  He wraps his stump arm around his stomach and bows forward with his elbow on his knee.  He stretches his palm across his forehead and digs into his temples. “I just...can’t believe I got myself into this.”  He blinks back tears. “It just hurts. I’ve been through it before but…” Troy swallows convulsively. “Man, I’ll do anything.”

 

Julian glances at Ozzy, who is standing against the bar now. His pocket buzzes and he excuses himself.

 

“Look, Troy, I know that we just met and this is a really weird situation… um, but, you’re not the first person to slip up. It’s okay,” Julian says, feeling bad now for being harsh, “Try not to get too upset, it won’t help your head… Do you think you can stomach some of the Pepto right now?”

 

“I...I’ll try it,” Troy says.  He’s not sure anything he takes in will stay down, but any possibility of relief is worth the risk.  He sits back against the couch cushions and begins to toe off his shoes. “Is it ok if I…?” he asks, before he remembers what Julian said not having to be polite.  It’s a hard habit to break. 

 

Julian smiles as he nods, “Make yourself comfortable,” he says, then hums, “Well, as comfortable as you can…”

 

He shakes the bottle of Pepto and pours a tiny cup full of the bright pink medicine before offering it to Troy. He reaches for the trash can and places it nearby, just in case.

 

Just looking at the sloshing pink liquid makes Troy’s stomach churn.  He accepts the medicine anyway and shoots it back before his trembling hands can spill it.  He nearly chokes on the taste, but a few swallows push it down. 

 

Troy takes a relieved breath, but as soon as he gives the little cup back to Julian, heat rises from his core.  He inhales through his nose and holds it. He needs the Pepto to stay down in order to work. Even a minute would be something.  

 

Troy gets thirty seconds at best before he has to lunge for the trash can.  The medicine comes back in a rush just as pink and sweet as it was going down.  A second heave leaves Troy coughing and sputtering. 

 

“Hey, it’s okay, relax,” Julian says, holding the trash can steady for him. Troy has absolutely nothing left to throw up.  Julian knows he won’t last long in this state without getting his temperature down and water in him. He imagines Troy won’t be keen on trying any water right this moment, though.

 

He hurries to the kitchen and runs a rag under the tap before returning to Troy’s side. He holds it out for him to wipe his mouth and nose.

 

“You alright?” Julian asks.

 

Troy takes the cloth and presses it over his face, enjoying the coolness for a moment before scrubbing dregs of sick from around his lips.  “Mm-hm,” he breathes. He hiccups and pauses with the rag an inch from his face. “I’m ok.” His voice is ragged, but he murmurs, “Thanks for trying.”

 

Julian nods. “Here’s a water bottle. You should try to take a few sips when you feel like you can.” He places the water bottle on the end table beside the couch, within easy access.

 

“I’m going to grab you a change of clothes… I think you’ll feel a little better when you’re in something more comfortable,” Julian says.  Ozzy walks back into the room from the back porch, looking relieved to be off the phone finally.

 

“Sorry, my mom called,” Ozzy says sheepishly, making his way to the chair to sit down.

 

Troy eyes the water warily.  He remembers what happened when he’d tried to drink water back on the side of the road.  He’s definitely not ready to risk a sip quite yet. 

 

He watches Julian disappear down the hall, then he slowly moves his gaze to Ozzy.  “You don’t have to sit with me,” Troy says in a raspy whisper. “I’m already putting a kink in your routine.

 

Ozzy tilts his head to the side.  “It’s not a problem, really. Don’t you want someone around?  I can leave if you want…” he says, “I don’t like being alone when I feel bad, but everyone’s different.”

 

The continued kindness catches Troy off guard.  He’s used to fighting off the shakes alone in his dorm, his supposed buddies disappearing when drug stashes were low and real displays of friendship called for.  Then when he’s at home, his family’s always present, whether he wants them to be or not. He’s not used to having a choice. “Um, well, it would be nice if you wanted to stay.”

 

Ozzy smiles, “Yeah, of course I will.”  Julian returns then, sweatpants and a t-shirt folded in his arms. He sighs.

 

“Well, here’s some that look like your size,” Julian says, offering them to Troy.  “Bathroom’s right there,” he points, then realizes something.

 

“Um, do you think you can get it?” Julian asks then, having not even considered that Troy might be too ill at the moment to stand.

 

“Oh, yeah, I got it,” Troy says.  He’s suddenly aware of the vomit stains on his shoulder from where he’d wiped his mouth on it earlier, and he can’t wait to shed the garment.  It takes him a moment to steel the strength to stand up, but he takes the bundle of clothes from Julian with another word of thanks. 

 

Troy sets the sweats on the counter and fumbles with the lock on the bathroom door before he starts to undress.  His fingers shake so hard he can barely keep ahold of the doorknob. It’s times like this when his body remembers he’s not naturally right-handed, despite living that way for a solid six years.  

 

He yanks off his shirt and drops his jeans, then pulls on the sweats and t-shirt from Julian.  They fit well enough, and the scent of laundry soap lingering on them is comforting. Troy folds his own clothes into a neat pile, then takes the opportunity to wash up.  He lathers hand soap up to his elbows and splashes his face with cool water from the tap. Bending over makes his back ache, and when he straightens up, his head is spinning.  Troy starts to fall before he can wrap his brain around what’s happening, and suddenly he’s on the ground.

 

Julian and Ozzy hear the bang against the door and the clattering from the bathroom.  Julian jumps up quickly and heads for the door.

 

“Troy?” he asks, wiggling the door knob.  Ozzy hurries to his side, his eyes wide.

 

“Door’s locked,” Julian says.  “Troy? Can you hear me?”

 

It takes longer than it should for Troy to get a handle on what he was just doing and what he should be trying to do.  “Yeah, I...I can hear you,” he says. He hopes Julian can hear  _ him _ ;  his voice barely sounds above the ringing in his ears, so he has no idea of its volume.  “I just...gimme a minute.” Troy rearranges himself slowly and presses his forehead between his knees.

 

Julian and Ozzy glance at each other, not sure what’s happening behind the door.  Julian hopes he hasn’t hit his head on anything.

 

“Um, Troy, do you wanna unlock the door?” Ozzy asks hesitantly.  He’s torn between honoring Troy’s wishes and ensuring he’s okay.

 

“Yeah…” Troy says again.  He’s alright, at least he thinks he is.  He just needs to reassure Ozzy and Julian.  

 

Troy uses the edge of the counter to haul himself up off the floor.  His head feels heavy as he reaches his full height, and he’s sweating again even though he just washed his face.  He jiggles the doorknob more than is probably necessary as he attempts to turn the lock. “I’m...coming,” he mutters.  

 

Troy finally gets the door unlocked. He means to open it slowly, but he loses his balance and stumbles out into the hall.

 

Julian catches Troy by his shoulders, and he is almost dead weight in his hands.  Ozzy raises his eyebrows, stepping quickly out of the way.

 

“Whoa, whoa,” Julian gasps, “I’ve got you.”

 

“God, I’m sorry,” Troy says.  He tries to get his feet back under him, leaning on Julian while also trying not to put too much pressure on him.  “I probably shouldn’t’ve stood up…”

 

Julian shakes his head.  “No, it’s okay… let’s get you back to the couch.  Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” He asks then.  He doesn’t see any blood, which he takes as a good sign.

 

“I think I’m alright,” Troy groans.  “I just...got dizzy.” He lets Julian walk him back to the living room.  He knows he probably wouldn’t make the short distance on his own, and he’s grateful for the assistance, but he also feels stupid all over again.  As soon as he sits down on the couch, the muscles in his legs feel like they’re twitching. He knows he’s not going to be comfortable for a while.

 

“I’m gonna go make up Max’s bed, he hasn’t been home in weeks anyway,” Ozzy says to Julian before heading up the stairs.

 

“Okay, um, do you think I could take your temperature?” Julian asks, trying to remember what he’d done when he’d been through this himself.  Although he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this bad off.

 

Troy shrugs, but it seems rude, so he changes to a slow nod.  “I don’t think it’s probably too bad,” he says. “But, I guess it would be good to know.”

 

Julian smiles briefly before heading back into the bathroom.  He rummages through the medicine cabinet and brings back a thermometer to Troy.

 

“Yeah, you don’t look like you’re burning up  or anything. When I stopped drinking, mine got pretty high, but… you know, it’s just to be on the safe side,” he says, then he realizes he’s slipped up.  He glances at Troy to see if he noticed.

 

Troy catches Julian’s eye, then quickly looks away.  “So you, uh, know all about this too?” he asks. Ordinarily he’d never bring it up, but the mere fact of him sitting there sweating and shaking on the couch puts the topic out in the open.

 

Julian bites the inside of his cheek for a moment before turning the thermometer on and handing it to Troy.  “I guess you could say that,” he says, “I stopped everything at once. I wouldn’t recommend that.” He laughs dryly, remembering those awful weeks spent sweating it out between his bed and the bathroom floor.

 

Troy gives a short laugh as well.  He takes the thermometer, but hesitates.  “I’ve only got one vice,” he says. “But it’s my second time drying out.  You’d think I’d’ve learned…” He finally voices the frustration that’s been playing in his head since the aches of withdrawal started up this morning.  He sniffs and wipes his nose on his hand before dejectedly tucking the thermometer under his tongue.

 

Julian hums, gripping the back of his neck. “So what is it?” he asks before clarifying, “your vice?”

 

The thermometer beeps, and Troy hands it back to Julian after taking a quick glance at the numbers.  The fever’s low-grade, but that doesn’t mean it won’t spike. “Oxy,” Troy says. “Or, well, just about anything that takes the edge off.”

 

Julian takes a look at the thermometer and takes it into the kitchen. He rinses it off in the sink and lays it on the counter to dry.

 

“Hmm.  So you’re pretty deep into it now, right?  Probably, what, middle of the first phase?” Julian says, running a hand through his hair. He sits down on the living chair beside the couch.  “Only up from here,” he says sarcastically. He genuinely feels for Troy; he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

 

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Troy sighs.  “Last dose was yesterday…” He shakes his head.  “I really thought I’d make it back before it got this bad.”  He pauses for a second, but can’t help but add, “You don’t have to see me through this, really.  Now that I’m this deep, it’ll be probably a day before I can walk straight.” He looks down at his fingernails.  “Unless you’ve got a stash somewhere.”

 

Troy cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth.  It was a stupid thing to say. He wants to be clean.  But if he had made it back to his dorm before the worst hit, he’s not sure if he’d have been strong enough to resist the craving for another pill.

 

Julian raises an eyebrow.  “I don’t have a stash, unfortunately.  Or… fortunately, however you wanna look at it.” He eyes the water and then leans forward in his chair.

 

“Look, man, I’ve been there, and it’s hell.  Uh, and I’ve done it alone too, and I’m not going to make you do that on your own… unless that’s what you want.  But I wouldn’t.” He grabs the bottle and offers it to Troy, hoping he’ll try more water now. He watches Troy stare at it for a beat before turning the lid and removing it for him, placing it on the coffee table.

 

Troy reaches for it hesitantly.  “Thanks.” He takes a tiny sip and says, “I, uh, don’t know if this is gonna stay down.  It’s been a few years since I’ve, well, you know. I don’t exactly remember how long it lasted.”

 

Julian nods.  “I just don’t want you to get dehydrated or anything... the trash can’s right there,” he says, “but, if you try to hold it down, you might feel better.”

 

“Yeah…”  Troy takes another short draught.  He can already feel the water hitting his stomach, and icy cramps radiate out into his rib cage.  He lowers the bottle and holds his stump up to his mouth to hold back a hiccup. 

 

Troy feels like he’s in limbo.  Hydrating gives him a rote task to focus on, but the sick feeling in his gut is rising quickly.  If he stops, though, the restlessness will come back. He holds still as long as he can, but eventually he has to shove the bottle at Julian and heave the water back up.

 

Julian places the bottle on the table and quickly grips the trash can, holding it steady for Troy once again.  He feels bad about pushing water, although he knows Troy has to hold fluids down for at least a little while if he wants to stand a chance of staying out of the hospital.  He frowns.

 

“I’m sorry, Troy,” he says.

 

Troy gags again and spits.  There’s nothing to vomit up.  He breathes slowly to get the contractions in his stomach under control.  He can do this. He imagines himself as a high school freshman, bent over the toilet in the locker room before heading out onto the track for a race.  He’s always managed to pull it together in the end. 

 

“Aw, it’s not your fault,” Troy chokes as he straightens up.  He still feels nauseated, and he’s not entirely convinced he’s not going to pass out, even though he’s sitting down.  He needs a distraction. “You said you, uh, quit drinking?” Troy asks tentatively. He doesn’t want to force Julian if he’d rather keep his past under wraps, but he feels a connection.

 

Julian nods. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t really realize there was a problem until…”  He trails off for a moment then continues, “Um, it became obvious pretty suddenly.”  He’s thinking of Nat, but he’s sure Troy doesn’t want to hear his melodrama right now. 

 

“I was showing up drunk to track meets and stuff, and some, uh, some shit happened that made me stop cold turkey,” he says.

 

“Mm,” Troy muses, wrapping his arm loosely around his stomach.  “I ran track too, but I was only on my high school team, and just for one year.  What events did you do?”

 

Julian lights up a bit. He loves nothing more than talking about running.  “I ran distance, but my specialty was the mile. I won all-state a few years in a row,” he says, but he feels like he’s verging on bragging.  Ozzy’s scolded him for that before. “I got a scholarship, but I’m not as fast as I used to be,” he says with a scoff, trying to even out his words.  “What about you?” he asks.

 

“Hurdles,” Troy says.  “At least, that’s what my coach liked me to compete in.  I like distance, though. But my dad didn’t think training in it was any good for football, so I stuck with the hurdles until…” Troy trails off.  “Stuff happened.” 

 

He looks down at his stump arm resting in his lap.  Though Julian hasn’t asked, Troy knows he has to be wondering.  Everybody does when they see the scars. “That happened. Got run over by a boat, summer after my freshman year.  Six surgeries and a load of painkillers… It’s, well, it’s how I got hooked in the first place.”

 

“Christ,” Julian swallows.  He’s actually not sure what to say, “I’m sorry. That… that must have been really difficult to deal with.”  Julian pauses a moment before adding, “Doesn’t seem to slow you down, though.”

 

Troy gives a singular chuckle, but it turns to another sick hiccup, and he swallows it quickly.  “I try not to let it. But it’s been almost seven years now. I’ve had a little practice.”

 

Julian hums; he isn’t sure he’d be able to deal with that kind of injury.  He feels a twinge of guilt now that Troy’s opened up to him and he’d been so vague.  “Well, if you can do that, you can do anything,” Julian says, leaning back in his chair.

 

“Maybe.  It kinda seems that way,” Troy sighs.  “But with my hand, I knew there was nothing to be done about it.  Right now…” He shakes his head. “God, it’s so much harder.” Tears sting at the corners of his eyes, partly from the throbbing pain in his skull, and partly from the emotion blown up with withdrawal’s chemical imbalance.

 

“You’re doing great,” Julian assures him, “I know you, um, don’t really have much choice,” He stands up then before continuing.  “But… you’re a lot nicer than I would be in your state.” 

 

He heads into the kitchen and grabs an ice pack from the freezer. He wraps it in a rag and heads back into the living room. Julian offers it to Troy.

 

Troy takes the ice pack, holding it to his cheek and wiping his eyes on the rag before tucking it behind his neck and leaning back against it.  The coolness feels wonderful on his fevered skin, though it intensifies his tremors. His teeth start to chatter almost immediately. “My god, thank you,” he says.  

 

His politeness is showing again, and he says, “When you’re the kid of the school teacher and the police chief, and the only boy, you learn there aren’t many options for how to behave.”

 

Julian smirks, “No worries.  Yikes, an officer, huh? They must stay on your case.  My parents didn’t care how we acted… or what we did, for that matter.  My brothers still turned out to be the upstanding citizens though,” he says sheepishly.  He shrugs, “I think I’m probably the black sheep.” 

 

He grabs a blanket from under the table and unfolds it, holding it up for Troy.  “Cold?”

 

“Now I am,” Troy says.  “I was hot a minute ago.”  He pulls the edge of the blanket up to his hips, trying not to lean forward and displace the ice pack.  He gives Julian a once-over. “You seem pretty upstanding to me. You rescued me off the side of the road, after all.”

 

Julian wants to take credit for a moment but he laughs, “Thanks.  That had a lot more to do with my upstanding boyfriend. I thought you were probably a serial killer, but I’m glad we did it now.  You’re a good guy, I can tell, it just takes me a while longer to be able to tell than it takes Ozzy.” 

 

He wonders briefly if Ozzy’s fallen asleep. It’s likely, given that he’d been up since 5 am working. Julian glances back at the water, knowing full-well Troy isn’t going to like his next suggestion.

 

“Maybe a little more water?” Julian urges. He knows this is important. Troy hasn’t eaten or held down any water all day. He wants to work him up to soup, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself or push too far.

 

“I’m not gonna be able to keep putting it off, am I?” Troy asks, trying to keep a good natured attitude.  It’ll keep him from passing out, but he’ll probably feel sick again, at least for a few minutes. He takes a resigned breath and reaches for the water bottle on the coffee table.  He glances at the trash can on the floor before he takes a tentative sip, and convinces himself he’s not going to need it this time. Troy swallows. He pauses, then swallows again for good measure.  He rests the bottle against his leg, trying to decide if he feels up to a second sip.

 

“There you go,” Julian encourages him, praying to himself that Troy will be able to keep it down.  He watches as Troy sits still, seemingly trying to keep things under wraps. If Troy gets sick again, he isn’t sure he’ll try again.

 

“Just relax.”

 

“Mm hm,” Troy closes his eyes and takes measured breaths.  Thirty seconds pass, then a minute. His stomach sloshes, but only chills radiate out through his chest.  “Ok,” he whispers. “Ok.” He takes another small sip of water, this time feeling more hopeful. 

 

“Yeah, that’s great,” Julian tells him. He’s wondering if Troy will be able to stomach some Pepto-Bismol in a while. 

 

“Just do what you can, don’t overdo it,” Julian says.

 

“You sound like my sister,” Troy says.  He can’t help but smile a little as he imagines Fran rolling her eyes and speaking the words  _ don’t overdo it _ .  He returns the bottle to the table.  “I think that”s all I can take right now.”  He has to admit he feels slightly better with some fluids in him.  His head feels less like it’s spinning off his shoulders, though the ache that had only been in his back is spreading to all his joints.

 

Julian smirks, “Well I don’t think anyone’s ever told me I sound like their sister before.”  He shrugs, walking into the kitchen, “I’ll just assume your sister is probably the best.” He grabs himself a soda and cracks it open.

 

“Oh, she is,” Troy assures him.  “She’s...probably my best friend.”  He shakes his head as he realizes that probably sounds more sad than he means.

 

“You look exhausted, do you think you wanna rest? I can set you up in a bed upstairs,” Julian suggests. It’s now nearing eleven at night.

 

Troy is exhausted.  It’s a good excuse. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to settle his body enough to sleep, but at least trying seems like a good idea.  

 

“Yeah, I probably should,” Troy says.  “I’m keeping you awake, aren’t I?” He pushes the blanket to the side and makes a clumsy attempt to draw the corners together and fold it.

 

Julian pulls the covers from Troys hands, though, and tosses the blanket to the side in a messy ball.

 

“You’re  _ fine,”  _ Julian assures him, “I just know tomorrow’s gonna probably be worse, if I remember correctly.  The bedroom’s right next to ours and the bathroom is just across the hall,” he tells Troy, reaching a hand down to help him up.  “You’ll have to tackle some stairs though, can you?”

 

“I think so,” Troy says, accepting the help and dazedly finding his center of balance.  “I’m not gonna be winning any races, though,” he tries to joke. When they get to the bottom of the stairs, he leans heavily on the handrail.

 

“You got it, just take your time,” Julian says, steadying Troy with a hand on his back.  He helps Troy up the stairs slowly but surely, relieved as they reach the top. “Bedroom’s in here,” Julian says, “it’s our friend’s ,but he’s never here.  He stays with his boyfriend most of the time.” 

 

He flicks on the bedroom light and notices Ozzy had finished the bed after all. Clean sheets and a fresh blanket lay on the bed, pulled back just enough for someone to crawl into.

 

“Thank you so much,” Troy says.  Just looking at the bed is making him all the more tired.  He sits on the edge of the mattress. Vertigo flares slightly as he curls onto his side.  “If I have to get up in the night, I’ll just go ahead and say sorry in advance now…” He pushes his hair off his face and breathes in the scent of the clean sheets.  

 

Julian shakes his head, “No need. Bathroom’s across the hall, but there’s a trashcan here.” Julian turns and grabs the bin from under Max’s desk and places it near the head of the bed. He pulls a water bottle from Max’s pack of 24 and places it on the nightstand.

 

“Focus on hydrating if you can’t sleep, alright?” He asks.

 

Troy nods into the pillow.  “I will. I...really probably need to.”  His entire body vibrates with microscopic tremors, but his eyelids feel heavy.  He may as well try to sleep now; there’s no telling how his body will handle the next few hours.  He has a feeling he’ll be forced out of bed sooner rather than later. “Thanks again. I really appreciate this.”  Troy pulls the blankets up to his shoulder and lets his eyes drift shut.

 

“No worries,” Julian tells him, heading out of the bedroom. He imagines Troy is well on his way to sleep already, he looked exhausted. Julian heads across the hallway into Ozzy’s bedroom. 

 

Ozzy is sleeping, his arm tucked underneath his cheek.  Julian grins as he slides into bed beside his boy and presses a kiss to his cheek.  Ozzy stirs, rolling over as he wakes up from his sleep with a concerned stare. “Is he okay? I’m sorry, I was so tired,” Ozzy says. 

 

Julian shushes him.  “It’s okay, Oz. He’s in Max’s bed, I think he’s probably asleep already,” Julian assures him. 

 

Ozzy hums.  “I’m sorry that I pressured you into picking him up, I just didn’t want to leave him there by himself…” Ozzy says tiredly, rubbing his eyes. 

 

Julian smirks.  Ozzy cares so much for everyone.  It’s what draws Julian to him, really.  “Don’t apologize for being helpful,” Julian tells him.  “He’s harmless, and you were right to do what you did.” Ozzy nuzzles up against him without another word as the pair begin to doze off.

 

When Troy wakes, it’s with a start.  He isn’t sure how long he was out, but the room is dark, so it’s clear it’s still far from morning.  Troy struggles to remember where he is and what happened, but there no time to waste as the pain in his stomach makes itself clear.  He throws off the covers in a rush and jumps to his feet, hoping he can get to the bathroom before he’s sick. 

 

Troy gets two steps away from the bed before he trips over something.  He stumbles, but somehow manages to stay on his feet. The thing rolls across the floor, and he realizes it’s the trash can Julian had placed beside the bed.  The thought of it redoubles Troy’s nausea, and he presses his hand over his mouth as he hurries out into the hallway. 

 

He retches against his palm before he gets down on his knees, and mucous and bile drip between his fingers.  Troy lets out a frustrated breath, but all he can do is lean over the toilet. He vomits again, and the burn of stomach acid makes his throat feel as if it’s blistering.  

 

It doesn’t take long for the heaves to turn dry again.  Troy rests his forehead on the toilet seat and struggles to find his breath while his body threatens to keep turning itself inside out.

 

Julian blinks himself awake as he hears the commotion across the hall.  He squints for a moment before hearing a terrible retch from the bathroom.  He slides his arm from underneath Ozzy’s head.

 

“What issit?” Ozzy mumbles sleepily. 

 

“Sounds like Troy’s sick again,” Julian says, “Do you wanna check on him or should I?”  He’s verging on sarcasm with the question and Ozzy raises his brows, pretending to consider it.

 

“I’ll get next time,” he says, and Julian rolls his eyes with a smirk.  Julian pads across the bedroom floor and across the hall and finds Troy in a heap over the toilet.

 

“Stomach bothering you again?” Julian asks, mostly just to make his presence known.  The answer is obvious.

 

“Ugh.”  Troy scrapes his teeth over his tongue to get rid of the taste.  It doesn’t help much. Spit dangles in a long drip from his lip into the toilet water below.  “It just...won’t stop,” he chokes. He holds the toilet seat tightly, ignoring the vomit handprint he’s making.  He’ll clean it up. But it’ll have to wait until later. 

 

Troy gags weakly, then pulls his stump across his lips and glances over his shoulder at Julian.  He’s been unimaginably kind, but he must think Troy a disgusting fool at this point. It’s how Troy’s beginning to feel about himself.  He’s lost count of the number of times a wave of hopelessness has washed over him today, but this time, it feels more like a tsunami.

 

Julian senses Troy is thinking something, but he can’t decide what. He glances around the bathroom, wondering briefly if Troy wants him to leave.  “Do you want me to leave you alone? Or I can stay, I don’t want to bug you,” Julian says uncertainly. 

 

“You don’t deserve this,” Troy whispers through his trembling jaw.  “I’ve said it a thousand times already, I’m probably annoying the crap out of you--” he cuts himself off with a hiccup, then breathes hard and fast for a moment before he throws up air and bile.  “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

 

Julian frowns, then shakes his head.  He walks through the bathroom behind Troy and sits on the edge of the bathtub near him.  He flushes the toilet, fully expecting there to be more soon. “I don’t mind, really. You’re not bothering us.  You’re doing great, Troy. It’s going to be worth it in the end, you know, it’s just rough to get there.” Julian isn’t good with words; he isn’t sure if anything he’s saying is landing, but he has to say  _ something _ . 

 

“I’ll stick it out with you, if you want a friend... do you wanna pillow?” he asks, feeling quite sure Troy won’t want to go back to bed any time soon. 

 

“Maybe eventually,” Troy murmurs.  “But I don’t think I should move…” He folds his stump arm under his cheek and tries to slow his breaths to a more measured pace.  He can feel yet another gag hanging in his chest, waiting to send his throat into contraction. The beginnings of dehydration bring a fresh throb to his head, and he wracks his memories, wondering if he felt anywhere near this bad last time.  He doesn’t remember, and he can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing.

 

Julian bites the inside of his cheek, wondering if they should have consulted an actual doctor before things got this bad.  He can tell Troy is getting dehydrated; he’s not sweating as much as before. “You’re not going to like this, but I think you should try sipping some water.  Even if it comes back up, at least you’re not puking bile,” Julian suggests. He tries to remember what he’d done during his withdrawals, but he draws a blank.  He probably blacked it out somewhere along the line.

 

“You’re right,” Troy coughs.  The gag finally rises, and he can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing uselessly as the muscles in his throat struggle against the pressure.  “I’m just gonna throw it back up. But this…” He whispers, “This hurts.” He means his throat in particular, but every inch of his body is in agony.  The joints in his fingers and toes feel stiff, and his spine seems perpetually bowed forward in what’s become an exceedingly uncomfortable position.

 

Julian stands, stepping across the bathroom and into the hallway. He returns only a few seconds later with the bottle of water he’d left on the nightstand for Troy.  It hasn’t been touched, and Julian isn’t surprised. He cracks the lid on the bottle upon re-entering the bathroom and reclaims his spot on the side of the tub. “I’m, uh, no doctor, but try and drink what you can… hopefully at least some will stay down,” Julian says.  He holds the water out to Troy.

 

“Thank you.”  Troy reaches for it, careful not to let his sticky hand touch Julian’s as he accepts the bottle.  He takes a small, slow sip first, but he doesn’t wait to see how it sets before downing a longer swallow.  The liquid feels good going down, and even the plasticky taste is heavenly. Troy’s stomach feels sloshy as soon as the water goes down, but he grits his teeth, trying to hang on to the fluids as long as he can.

 

Julian braces himself to see how Troy does.  “Even just a few minutes will help with the dehydration,” Julian encourages.  He really hopes Troy will hold it down, but just as much, he doubts he will.

 

A few minutes are all Troy gets.  The force of the water rushing back up almost knocks him backwards.  It’s a different sensation after the better part of an hour gagging on nothing.  “God,” he breathes. He retches hard again, and water drips from his nose as well as his mouth.  Troy sputters, frantically trying to clear his airway. His foggy brain drudges up older memories, ones he wants desperately to keep away.  

 

It’s fresh, bottled water he’s spitting up, he reminds himself.  Not water from the ocean. He hasn’t been swimming. There is no boat.  He’s in a house. He’s safe. Well, maybe not exactly, but the only harm befalling him now is the predictable result of his own stupidity.  

 

“You’re okay, just breathe,” Julian reminds him.  Troy seems to be panicking for some reason and Julian isn’t sure what’s happening.  He fights the urge to put a hand on Troy’s shoulder, certain that he won’t appreciate the touch at the moment.  Instead he hopes he can bring him back down with his words. “You’re alright, Troy.”

 

Troy does his best to focus on Julian’s voice.  Tears well up in his eyes and make his vision go blurry.  He takes a few shuddering breaths and wipes his nose with his stump.  The scarred nub tingles as bits and pieces of the accident flash through his confused mind.  The sensation is almost painful, and a craving for something, anything to reduce the discomfort flares up in him.  

 

He can barely stand it.  Who is he, thinking he can get clean and live on the straight and narrow?  He’s not strong enough for this. 

 

But he can’t keep living an addict’s life either, always dependent on the next pill.  He’s given away too much of himself. If he keeps it up, there won’t be anything left.  He’s going to get through tonight. But first, he needs to get through the next five minutes.

 

Troy finally gets a breath in without snuffing water back up his nose.  “I’m...alright,” he murmurs, as much to himself as to Julian.

 

Julian’s seen that kind of panic before: an almost out-of-body experience, where your mind plays tricks on you.  He’s been through that too many times not to recognize it.

 

“Do you want to talk about it, Troy?” He asks. He hopes he’s not overstepping.

 

“I, well--” Troy stops to cough convulsively.  “I just... felt like I was drowning.” He’s almost ashamed to admit it.  He doesn’t want to sound melodramatic. But no one’s ever asked before. Everyone in his family knows what happened, and most others aren’t close enough to ask.  Either way, it feels like no one cares. “It’s been a long time, “ Troy says, “But it still feels like the accident happened yesterday.” 

 

He settles into a seated position a foot or so back from the toilet and delicately shakes his head.  “That’s why I keep using, I think. I mean, besides being addicted. I can’t stop being scared.”

 

The hair stands on Julian’s neck and he takes in a deep breath. “I know that feeling.  Really, I mean, it’s hard to get those things out of your head once they happen. People don’t usually stay addicted because it’s fun, though, do they?” He asks rhetorically.  “I stopped everything cold turkey… after my accident. I mean, until the flashbacks started, then I couldn’t take it anymore. Alcohol was kind of the only thing that made them go away.”  He realizes he hasn’t explained what happened to Troy yet, but he feels almost as if it would be too much for him right now. 

 

Troy bats at the toilet paper roll and pulls off a length to properly clean himself up a little.  He doesn’t think he’s done being sick for the night, but he may as well take advantage of the eye of the storm.  His thoughts are flighty and verging on muddled, but he senses Julian has more to say. He feels the weight of their shared pasts hanging in the air between them.  

 

Troy wipes flecks of bile from the toilet seat, then raises his gaze to Julian’s face.  “You, uh, had an accident too?”

 

Julian blinks, shifting on the edge of the tub as his hips ache.  “Yeah. Um, a car accident, though. I was driving, and I… wrapped my friend and I around a pine tree.”  He feels a pit in his stomach every time he has to explain what happened, but he knows he’s in good company.  “I was drunk then, too,” Julian says, shaking his head ruefully. “You’d think I’d have learned my lesson.”

 

“Our brains don’t always work real linear,” Troy says, struggling slightly with syntax as he tries to keep the tremors from making his teeth chatter.  “Pills have messed up my life, but I’d just about kill for one right now…” He immediately regrets his choice of words. Though Julian’s explanation had been vague, Troy had felt the importance of what hadn’t been said.  

 

“I’m sorry,” He sighs, rubbing his eyes.  “I’m not thinking real straight.” 

 

“That’s okay,” Julian says, “it’ll ease up eventually.  Just try to relax,” he reminds him. “You can do this, Troy.”  He almost feels as though he’s being cheesy, but he remembers sweating around the toilet.  He remembers wishing he had someone around to tell him he’d live through it, because it sure as hell didn’t feel that way.

 

“I’m trying,” Troy sighs.  He reaches for the water bottle where it rests on the floor between the toilet and bathtub.  “It’s damn hard, though.” He takes a small, yet determined sip and pulls himself back over the toilet to wait.

 

He holds down the water longer than he did on the last attempt, but he still only gets five minutes before his stomach rejects it again.  With Julian’s encouragement, Troy keeps trying, though. 

 

By the time the soft light of dawn filters through the bathroom window, Troy’s still hanging over the toilet, his hair plastered to his forehead with clammy sweat.  The shakes are getting bad again, and even though his brain is abuzz, his body is exhausted. He turns to Julian, who is miraculously still perched on the edge of the tub, though he’s now slouched against the wall.  

 

“I don’t think I should move from here,” Troy says.  “But, well, could I maybe take you up on that pillow now?  If it’s not...too much trouble.”

 

“Of course,” Julian says, rubbing his eyes.  He’s trying to hang in there. He hurries into Max’s bedroom, pulling the pillow from the headboard.  He grabs a thin blanket too, and returns to Troy. He lays the pillow on the floor, just barely leaning against the bathtub.

 

“How’s that?”

 

“Thank you so much,” Troy says.  He clumsily pulls down a length of toilet paper and uses it to wipe his mouth and nose, then dabs perspiration off his forehead.  “I think...maybe I’m done. But no sense in leaving when, you know…” He’s too foggy to do the math, but it’s definitely too early for him to be out of the woods.  “Go on to bed, you don’t have to keep sitting with me.”

 

Julian hesitates, torn between being both exhausted and worried about Troy.  He hates the idea of leaving him alone. “Are you sure about that? If you need me to stay, I can,” he says with a frown. 

 

“It’s definitely nice to know I’m not all by myself,” Troy says with a cough, “But I think I’ll be ok.  Or at least, I don’t think this is gonna get any worse.” He can barely hold his hand steady to tuck his hair behind his ear.  

 

Julian chews the inside of his cheek for a moment and then turns on his heels out of the room without a word.

 

“Well, alright,” Troy mutters to himself.  He’d figured Julian would have had enough after keeping him company for what feels like hours.  Troy tries to count his blessings, that he’d had Julian’s comforting presence to begin with, but he can’t help but feel a little put out.  It’s probably the mood swings that come with the detox. 

 

Troy tells himself to drop it, and he slowly lowers himself to the floor.  He gently rests his throbbing head on the pillow and pulls the blanket up to his waist.  His stomach has calmed down for the moment, and he tells him to focus on nothing but getting a few moments’ rest.

 

Julian walks back into the bathroom after having collected a blanket and pillow from the linen closet.  He’s glad to see Troy laying down finally. If Julian’s exhausted, he can’t imagine how worn out Troy must be.  “Sorry, I just needed to grab some things,” Julian says with a smile.

 

Troy blinks.  He’d thought Julian was bordering on frustrated, but now he seems genuinely happy.  Or at least, more comfortable. “It’s...it’s ok,” Troy says sleepily. He thinks he should probably insist Julian get some real sleep in a real bed, but every part of him aches, and he’s past pretenses.  He feels the smallest bit better with Julian there. Not so much in the physical sense, but he feels safer. More motivated to see this ordeal through to the other side. Troy takes a breath, thinking he should say something else, but he’s too tired and he doesn’t know what.  “Thanks,” he whispers.

 

Julian tilts his head to the side; he’s not at all aware of what it means to Troy.  “Of course,” he says. He’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open and when he slides down to sit on the floor, he’s relieved to be off his feet.  He puts the pillow against the cabinet and lays down, curled up on his side so that his small blanket covers his whole body. 

 

Julian thinks back to his own withdrawals, the time he’d spent, like Troy, on the floor of the bathroom praying for it to be over.  Nobody had been there. The only one that  _ would _ have been there was Nat, and Nat was gone.  He’d thought he was going to die during those days, and he wasn’t sure he cared too much, which made it even more difficult to make it through.  He’d never let anyone feel alone like that, not if he could help it. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s already starting to drift off.

 

***

 

When Troy wakes next, it’s because his stomach is sitting at the back of his throat.  His body takes over, and he’s yanking himself up over the toilet before his brain catches up.  The heave is completely dry, and it should be, since he’s kept down all of a few tablespoons of water over the course of the night.  His entire body jolts forward with the pressure of a second retch. His lungs, his stomach, and everything in between seems to be rising, sending him off balance and in danger of falling head first out of his precarious crouch.  

 

Troy gets a second to breathe, but then his body goes into contraction again around another failed attempt to vomit up something.  He curses under his breath, then resigns to leaning over the porcelain bowl until the nausea diminishes.

 

Julian is woken up by the sound of dry-heaves. He blinks, his body aching from the tile he’s sleeping on.  He sits up and finds Troy, once again draped over the toilet. “ Troy, you alright?” He asks. Troy is over the toilet bowl, but he’s not doing anything now.  Julian grips the bottle of water from its spot on the floor and he pops the lid off.

 

“Troy, try some,” he urges.  He knows it isn’t going to be welcomed warmly, but he Troy has no water in his system, and that’s a fact Julian can’t shake from his mind.

 

Troy turns his head just far enough to see Julian and the water bottle.  He should try again to get some fluids into his system. Even if it makes feel sicker, the actual heaves will be less painful.  But logic barely exists in his cloudy mind, and his face arranges into a doubtful expression. “I don’t know,” he says. “I should, but…” Troy shakes his head an inch to each side, which only exacerbates his vertigo.  “I should.”

 

Julian nods, “You should.”  He knows that if Troy puts anything in his stomach it will probably come back up moments later, but he’s afraid of how long it’s been since Troy’s tried to drink. He begins to hand the water over, but notices his trembling frame. He frowns, holding the bottle up to Troy’s lips for him instead.

 

Troy leans forward as much as he dares and tries to stay his quivering jaw so he can take a small sip.  He swallows a mouthful, then pulls back, not wanting to overdo it. “I…” Troy shakes his head slightly again, torn between ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you.’

 

“No worries,” Julian says with a grin.  He puts the bottle back on the counter, hoping that Troy will last a bit longer with it in his system this time.  It doesn’t look that way, but Julian can’t help his wishful thinking. He sees the weary stare on Troy’s face and he clears his throat. “It’ll ease up soon, Troy,” he says. He hopes he’s telling the truth.

 

“I hope so,” Troy says.  He presses his stump over his mouth as he swallows hard, ensuring the water stays down for at least a few moments.  “It doesn’t seem like I was down and out for more than a couple days when I did this last time. But...it’s hard to really remember.”  He lets out a long, slow breath and fights a hiccup.

 

“You’re holding it together a lot better than I did,” Julian says, “So, I mean, there’s that.”  He doesn’t know if he’s very good at comforting others. Ozzy is much more comforting than he is, he thinks.  Even though Ozzy wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near Troy right now voluntarily. “You should be proud you’ve made it this far,” he says.  Then he hums, “I mean, I guess you didn’t have much choice, but… maybe that’s for the best.”

 

“Yeah, it...it definitely is,” Troy says.  He scrubs at the grit in the corners of his eyes.  “If I were back at school…” He shakes his head again.  “I don’t know what I’d be doing. I was supposed to get back yesterday.  I wonder if they...wonder where I am.” Troy realizes he hasn’t checked his phone in nearly a day.  But he can’t quite bring himself to care. The part of his mind that wishes he was dead flares up, aided by the chemical imbalance in his cells and the wanging pain in his head.  

 

“I’m sure they do…” he says, measuring his words carefully, “Is there someone I can call for you?” Julian asks, glancing around the bathroom.  He’s uncertain of where Troy’s mind is or what he’s thinking.  _ Does he have friends?  Should people be worried about where he is?   _ He can usually tell what people are thinking, but not now.  He’s not even sure if what he’s offering is useful at all. 

 

“I, well, I don’t want my parents to  know this is happening. Again,” Troy sighs.  Nausea builds, tightening his jaw and making him feel hot around the collar.  He swallows hard, trying to convince himself he can keep down the water he’d swallowed.  “I shouldn’t have taken my last dose so early yesterday, but, I was staying at their house, and I just...didn’t have any other choice.”  He takes a deep breath and asks, “What is it, Monday now?”

 

“You’re a good guesser,” Julian smirks, “it’s about 6 am now.” Julian yawns, fighting the urge to stretch. He’s very tired, but he knows that Troy is even more so. He’s surprised that Troy hasn’t passed out by now, to be fair. “How’s the water sitting?”

 

“Um.  Well, it kind of feels like it’s just sitting…”  Troy gestures vaguely to his throat and chest. He feels like if he tries to drink any more, it’ll immediately come back up.  He’s not sure if what he’s managed counts much for hydration, though. 

 

He shifts his foggy thoughts, trying to figure whether he’s answered Julian’s last question.  Troy thinks his phone is probably in his car, tucked somewhere in the cab or in his duffle of dirty clothes.  His roommate won’t care where he is. He’s probably too high himself. Troy’s parents will be disappointed about the lack of check-in text messages, but his silence won’t tip off alarm bells.  They’ll assume he’s off tarnishing the family name at a rally or something. If he’s missed a text from Frances, though… Troy hopes he hasn’t. His sister worries at the drop of a hat. His heart sinks a little as he recalls their years-ago promise not to keep secrets from each other, even if they both keep some from the rest of the family.  

 

“I need to call my sister,” Troy says suddenly, convicted in his decision even though the anticipation of explaining himself makes his gut twist.  He shifts up onto his knees as if he’s going to stand up, but that’s as far as he makes it before the water comes tearing up his throat. He barely has time to turn to the toilet, and most of the meager stream of sick ends up on the seat.

 

Julian gasps at first, caught a bit off guard by the sudden attempt at standing and the mess now covering the toilet.  It’s only a little though, although he thinks that’s a bit unfortunate as well. “You okay?” he asks Troy, who is now looking even more dazed than before.  “I’ll get the phone for you, don’t try and move right now, alright?”

 

Troy fights the urge to dry heave and nods weakly.  “God, I’m sorry,” he mutters. Then, “Yeah, I, uh…” He doesn’t feel like he can move anyway.  The dizziness is back with a vengeance. It’s a sure sign he needs to take another swig from the water bottle, and he promises himself he’ll do it soon.  He imagines he’ll be promising Fran the same thing once he gets her on the phone. Troy’s heart pounds, and he’s not sure whether it’s from the continuous vomiting or delayed embarrassment or apprehension of what’s to come.  It’s probably a combination of the three. Troy stretches his stump arm out on the side of the toilet seat that’s not spattered with water and bile. He buries his face in his elbow and wills himself to calm down.

 

Julian blinks, nearly out of his element.  Ozzy is better at dealing with emotions than he is, but probably just the sight of the bile would make Ozzy gag himself.  Julian wishes he were more in tune with emotions, but he’s never been before. Nevertheless, he crouches down beside Troy and places a tentative hand on his shoulder, worried that the touch might throw Troy over the edge.  “Hey, look, it’s not a big deal, okay? I know this is all really overwhelming, but it’s going to be okay. I’ll clean that up in a minute. Just breathe, alright?”

 

“Mm.  Ok.” Troy feels like crying.  He knows he’s experiencing mostly the strange workings of a body and mind starved of chemicals upon which they’ve become dependent, but he can’t seem to shake the perception that somewhere in the ache in his head and stomach is the seed of a fatal flaw in his character.  He’s been so self-centered for the past few hours that he’s completely forgotten everyone else’s feelings. He doesn’t like being that person. Maybe this unexpected push towards getting clean is a positive after all. He needs a wake-up call badly.

 

“Don’t pass out on me,” Julian says, he’s halfway lighthearted about it, but he’s verging on serious.  “Where’s your phone? Do you know?” he asks. He senses that Troy’s emotions are raw now, and he can tell he’s on the verge of breaking down.  He doesn’t want that. He hopes getting him on the phone with his sister will alleviate some of those feelings.

 

“In the car, I think.  Somewhere,” Troy says. He realizes his answer is unhelpful at best.  “It’s, um…” He has to pause to breathe before forcing out more words. “Either in the front, or...in my bag in the backseat.  A white iPhone?” Apologizing for his lackluster description would be a waste of breath at this point.

 

Julian nods, “Okay, I’ll go look… just, um, stay here,” he says awkwardly.  Troy isn’t going anywhere even if he wanted to. Julian hurries from the bathroom and down the stairs.  The purplish grey of morning always makes him feel more tired than he is. 

 

He heads out of the front door shoeless, the muggy morning air makes him feel even heavier.  He opens the car door and peeks inside, looking in the front first before checking for a bag.  He finds the bag sitting in the back seat and the phone just inside the front pocket. He decides that it’s probably a good idea to bring the bag in; he’s certain Troy will want a change of clothes after his stomach calms down.  Julian slings the bag over his shoulder and slams the car door, heading back into the house. He climbs back up the stairs and pulls the phone from the pocket.

 

“Can you do it, or should I?” He asks, announcing his return to the room.

 

“I’ll do it,” Troy says shakily.  He sits upright slowly and wipes his sweaty palm on his borrowed pants before reaching out to take his phone.  “Thanks.”

 

As soon as he gets to the lock screen, he sees a half-dozen messages, most of them from Frances, and still dotted with her signature smiling emojis even though they’re concerned in content.   _ Text me back as soon as you get this.  Have you made it back to campus yet? _

 

Troy sighs and opens his contacts.  His thumb hovers over Fran’s name as he situates himself to lean against the tub.  He glances uneasily up at Julian. “Can you, um… Can you stay?” Troy asks. He doesn’t trust himself to be able to force out the words if he’s left alone.

 

Julian furrows his brow.  He can’t place how Troy seems to be feeling.  Afraid, he’d say, if he was confident in his ability to gauge emotions.  “Absolutely, I will,” he says with a nod. He steps back over to the edge of the bathtub and sits down.  He cozies up with his back against the wall, as if to prove to Troy he’s not going anywhere. 

 

“Thank you,” Troy says.  He keeps his stump arm folded over the clen edge of the toilet seat so he doesn’t fall backward as he moves attention to things other than just sitting up.  “I, uh…” Troy grapples with words, feeling he owes Julian an explanation. “We just look out for each other a lot. I, well, I really dropped the ball, letting, you know, other stuff get more important.”  He shakes his head enough to fluff his hair out of his eyes and presses the call button.

 

Julian nods, he wishes he were close with his brothers at all.  He’s a bit amazed at the idea of going a few days without speaking to them being a sign something is wrong.  He hasn’t spoken to his brothers in months. “It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll understand,” he says.

 

Troy barely hears Julian’s response as he brings the phone to his ear and listens to it ring.  It stops after two, and Fran’s friendly drawl picks up. “Hello?” 

 

“Hey, Frannie,” Troy says, wishing his voice wasn’t so weak and rough.  “I’m real sorry I missed you.”

 

Frances doesn’t say ‘that’s ok,’ or some other platitude.  It’s not ok, they both know it. “You don’t sound good,” she says.

 

“Yeah, I’m...not feeling so good,” Troy admits.  Anxiety battles with nausea in his chest.

 

“What happened?  Where are you?” Frances asks.

 

“I’m, uh…” Troy pauses and bites his lip.  “There’s some stuff I haven’t told you. I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re back on the pills, aren’t you?” Frances’s voice goes hard.  “Troy, you could’ve talked to me before it got that bad. You know that.”

 

“I’m taking care of it,” Troy says.  He drops his forehead back to his arm, willing himself not to cry.  “God, Fran, I’m so sorry.”

 

“I know,” Fran sighs, warmth coming back to her tone.  She can’t stay mad at him, not for the life of her. She’s never been able to.  Troy knows he doesn’t deserve that kind of love and support. “Where are you?” she asks.  “Did you make it to your dorm last night?”

 

“Um, well, not quite,” Troy says.  He doesn’t know where he is exactly.  The memory of stopping off with a flat tire may as well be a year old.  “I’m uh, staying with some friends?” He half-glances at Julian, but the strain makes his eyes hurt.  “Just till I, um. You know. Dry out.”

 

“Do you want me to come get you?”  Troy can practically hear Fran picking up her keys.

 

“No, no, I--” He fights a hiccup.  “I don’t want you to see me like this.  I’ll be alright. I’m gonna do better, Fran.  I promise.”

 

“You really don’t sound good,” Fran almost laughs.  “But I know you’re trying hard. Call me, ok? Call me tonight.”

 

“Ok,” Troy says.  “I will. And Fran… I’m real sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry, ok?  Let me do that.” She does laugh this time.  “Call me later.”

 

“Alright. Bye.”  Troy lowers the phone to his lap, not sure whether he wants to weep to vomit.  The feelings of guilt are stronger than before, but a new motivation to really change himself thrums in him as well.

 

Julian shifts on the edge of the bathtub, his bottom hurting against the hard porcelain.  He’s trying to think of how to break the silence, or if he should at all. “You alright, Troy?” he asks after the phone is on Troy’s lap.  It sounded like it went alright, but Troy doesn’t look any better than he did a few minutes ago. If anything, he looks worse.

 

“I let her down, bad,” Troy mutters.  “She’s just too nice to say it.” He reaches for the water bottle and takes a rough swallow.  “And I just...feel bad.” He means emotionally, but his stomach cramps, so he adds, “And sick.”

 

Julian doesn’t know how to help him with his sister, but he might be able to help him with the last part.  “Do you want a hot water bottle or something? I’m not, uh, I’m not so good with taking care of people… usually Ozzy does that,” Julian says.  “And you’re going to make it up to her.”

 

“I’m gonna try,” Troy says.  He leans over the toilet bowl and shoves his hair back with his shaking hand.  “I’ve got to kick this first.” 

 

The water comes back up in a rush, and by the time it tapers off into dry heaves, his eyes and nose are dripping as well.  Troy grabs a square of toilet paper and dabs away the tears. “I’m done,” he whispers. “I’ve got to be done. Just, god, it hurts.”

 

Julian grimaces, but quickly wipes the look from his face.  He’s not disgusted; he’s feeling pangs of sympathy pain for Troy.  Just watching him struggle this much is painful. 

 

He stands up then and grabs a wash rag from under the sink.  He dampens it under the sink and hands it to Troy. “Where do you wanna be? Bed? Couch? Up to you,” Julian says.  He can’t imagine how out of control Troy must be feeling about everything. Out of control of his environment, what he’s doing, even his own body.  Julian feels a bit guilty, wondering if he’s been coming across as bossy this whole time. “I’ll get you a hot water bottle for your stomach.”

 

Troy lets out his breath in a long sigh.  He spits into the toilet one last time and sits back on his heels.  “Thank you,” he murmurs. He hopes he’ll be able to settle down and maybe rest once he gets out of the bathroom, but the muscles in his legs are cramping.  He’d sooner take a walk around the block than a nap, but he doesn’t trust himself to get as far as the end of the driveway without fainting. Even the stairs seem like a challenge.  He imagines he’ll feel more comfortable with his feet on the ground, though. He did last time. 

 

“The couch, I think, would be great,” Troy says.  “I don’t want to be in the middle of your space, though, if you’ve got...other stuff to do.”  He has to stop to take a shallow breath in the middle of his sentence.

 

“No worries. Couch it is,” Julian says with a smile.  He’s hoping that maybe Troy will be able to relax downstairs.  Although, Julian thinks of the stairs as an obstacle as well. He reaches a hand down for Troy.

 

Troy wipes his palm on his shirt and sets his phone up on the edge of the bathtub before accepting Julian’s help.  He leans against the counter for a moment to get his bearings and give his head a chance to stop spinning. “Alright,” Troy breathes.  He glances at the pillows and blankets on the floor, but he doesn’t trust himself to bend over and make it back upright. He steps awkwardly over them and out into the hall.  Troy’s certain he’ll make it down the stairs alright if he goes slowly and clings to the handrail, but he waits for Julian just to be sure.

 

Julian gathers the bedding from the floor and follows Troy out into the hallway.  He never realized how many stairs they had until now. “Just take it easy, okay?” He asks, not trusting himself or his lack of upper body strength to be able to get Troy up off the floor.

 

“Sure…”  Troy hates how much he’s shaking.  His arms and legs, his shoulders, his chest, even his lungs feel like they’re quivering.  He wraps his hand tightly around the bannister and takes the first couple of steps. 

 

It takes an age, and it’s awkward with Julian hovering behind him with his hands full, but Troy slowly makes it to the bottom of what’s surely a mountain of stairs.  He moves more quickly through the hall toward the living room, and he does his best to lower himself somewhat gracefully onto the couch. He tips his head against the backrest.  “That...should not have made me this tired,” Troy says. He tries to smile, but his teeth are chattering as the tremor moves through his jaw.

 

Julian laughs, “I don’t know how you’re still walking and talking after what you’ve been through.”  He walks into the hall bathroom and rummages through the cabinets before finding the hot water bottle.  He turns on the tap and waits for what feels like an eternity for the water to heat up before beginning to fill the bottle.  He caps it off and shuts off the flow, grabbing a hand towel to wrap around the bottle before heading back into the living room.  He turns, remembering he wants Troy to hydrate, something Troy probably wishes he would have forgotten. He finds a water bottle in the door of the fridge and returns to the living room.  He holds the hot water bottle out to Troy first, “That might help,” he says. Then he holds out the bottled water. “That might not,” he says with a grin.

 

Troy can’t help but smile back.  “You’re probably right,” he says.  He tucks the hot water bottle against his stomach and settles a blanket over it before accepting the beverage with less enthusiasm.  “I know I’m not doing myself any favors being all empty…” He holds the bottle precariously between his trembling knees and twists off the top.  “But it’s another thing that just should not be so hard.” Troy takes the smallest of sips and swallows twice to push the water down.

 

“It’ll get easier soon, you should be on the tail end of this in a few hours,” Julian does his best to recall the timeline.  “When you come out of this, I’ll get you whatever food you want for dinner,” Julian says with a laugh before considering how unappealing that must sound to Troy right now, “I know it doesn’t sound good now, but it will.”  He sits down on the chair in the corner. His body is tired, too, and sore from sleeping on the floor. 

 

“Ugh, yeah,” Troy groans.  “I’m not so much into food to begin with.  My sisters were never thrilled when it was my night to cook and I wanted to make popcorn and toast.”  He chuckles and raises the water bottle to his lips again. Troy sets it on the coffee table and breathes deeply as he feels the water running down into his stomach.  

 

“I’m actually not that big on food either,” Julian says with a chuckle, “Ozzy thinks I’m crazy, but… it’s  just something I have to do to stay alive, that’s all. But then again, Ozzy’s family is all Italian, so he definitely doesn’t understand,” Julian grins. He stretches out his back for a second, fighting a yawn

 

Troy takes in Julian’s stiff posture and says, “God, I bet you’re tired.  I’m tired, but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep any time soon.”

 

. “I’m okay,” he lies, he plans to stay awake with Troy for a while longer, at least until he’s sure he’s settled and feeling at least a little better. “Do you want me to grab a trashcan or something?”

 

Troy weighs his options.  He really hopes he’s done being sick; he feels like he’s been emptying his stomach all night.  He feels more settled than he has in the past few hours, but nausea still plays from his head down into his chest.  “Well, it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Troy sighs. “I think I’m alright, but…” He grits his teeth and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

 

Julian considers his own options for a moment then opts for the trash can.  He hoists his tired body from the suddenly comfortable chair and heads into the kitchen.  He finds the small trash can and brings it back into the living room, lining it with a grocery sack from the counter. “Just in case,” Julian says with a tired smile as he places it near the couch.  “You’re welcome to watch TV if you want,” he says then, gesturing towards the remotes on the coffee table. He sits back down in his chair, grateful to be off his feet.

 

“Thanks.”  Troy looks from the trash can by his foot to the TV.  Background noise might be helpful. Anything to keep his mind occupied while his body still wrestles to function without the chemicals he’s been putting into it.  He takes another sip of water before grabbing the TV remote between his stump and his shaking hand. Troy flips through the channels and stops on a rerun of CSI. He glances at Julian, who looks a second from falling asleep.  The last thing he wants is to give him nightmares.

 

Julian is more or less indifferent; he’s too tired to care.  He lays his head back against the headrest of the chair. He’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open after a few minutes. Seconds later or maybe minutes, he can’t tell, he jolts awake with a gasp when his head falls forward.  He’d dozed off, and now Troy is looking at him. His cheeks flush red. “I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up a bit.

 

“No, don’t,” Troy says, “You sleep.”  He turns the volume on the TV down a couple notches.  “I’m ok.” He says it as much to himself as he does to Julian.  Sweat breaks out over Troy’s forehead, and he’s torn between lifting the hot water bottle for a moment and hugging it closer.  He takes a slow, measured breath and wills the nausea to dissipate. “I’m gonna be ok.”

 

Julian is hesitant, Troy looks sick again, and Julian glances between the trash can and Troy’s face.  “If you need me, wake me up, it’s really fine,” Julian says. A yawn forces its way out and he covers his mouth with a fist.  “Ozzy should be up soon, but I think he might have to go to work. Um, keep sipping the water, too, okay?” He hates the idea of sleeping while Troy is like this, but he’s not sure how much longer he can hang on.

 

“Yeah, I will.”  Troy reaches for the water, but he’s not sure he can stomach another sip just yet.  He watches Julian close his eyes again, then turns his attention back to the show on the TV.  He wishes he could close his eyes and drift off too, but energy thrums in his quivering limbs.  Troy taps his feet on the floor to ease the desire to move, but the motion doesn’t do anything for his stomach.  Resigned, he hunches forward over his knees and wraps his arms around his middle, trying to hold still and breathe at the same time.  The sick feeling in his gut becomes less imminent, but doesn’t disappear. Troy presses the cold water bottle to his temple and wonders vaguely if he’s still feverish.

 

Ozzy makes his way down the stairs, rubbing his eyes as he tries to wake up.  He’s got his shoes in his hand and his work apron draped over his arm. He pauses for a second, taking in the sight in the living room. Julian’s slumped over in the chair. His mouth is open, which means he must be very tired. Troy is curled over on himself on the couch. Ozzy wonders what he’s slept through and feels a pang of guilt in his stomach.

 

“Troy, you okay?” he asks, stepping down from the stairs into the living room.

 

“Hm?”  Troy sits up faster than his body’s prepared for, and he presses his stump over his mouth while he swallows frantically.  After a moment’s struggle, he’s settled enough to speak without feeling like he’s going to vomit. “I’m ok,” he says, though his voice is barely a choked whisper.  

 

Troy remembers what Julian had said about Ozzy dealing better with emotions than sick, and he tries his best to give him neither, not when it looks like he’s on his way out for the day.  “I should be almost through this part,” he says. Then, “I’m, um. Really grateful you guys gave me a place to stay and, you know, get through it.”

 

Ozzy smiles, “It’s fine, of course. I’m really sorry I wasn’t around… I’m pulling a double today,” he says. “Um, looks like Julian knocked out on you too, huh?” he smirks, glancing at Julian, who is snoring softly in the chair. He doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but he also doesn’t look like he cares much.

 

“I tired him out, I think,” Troy says.  “He was up with me for, well, most of the night.  I feel bad; I’m taking up his day, too.” He readjusts on the couch, shifting to lean against the arm with his feet still on the floor.  He knows it’s only the beginning of what’s sure to be a long day of trying to get comfortable.

 

“Don’t feel too bad,” Ozzy says with a smile, “He doesn’t actually like a lot of people, and he’s also  _ really _ stubborn, so you should take it as a compliment that he stuck around with you. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t want to,” Ozzy breathes out, “trust me.” He sits down on the love seat and begins to pull his shoes on. “But he recharges really quick. He’s not a big sleeper. How are you feeling?”

 

“Not so bad,” Troy says.  “But, also not so good. Nothing’s going quite right, and it’s my own damn fault.  But I should be over it in less than a day now, I think.” 

 

Ozzy bites his lip, “Yeah... well hopefully you’ve made it through the worst.” He glances down at the floor and then swallows. “Do you need me to stick around? I can… I have time off and all,” he says. He means it, but he’s calculating the wages he’d miss for the day in his mind.

 

“No, no, I’ll be alright,” Troy insists.  “Don’t use your vacation on me…” He swallows hard again.  He felt like he’d had everything under control a moment ago, but now he wonders if he needs to throw up.  He doesn’t want to use the trash can if he can help it, not with Ozzy right there. “I swear I’m ok,” Troy says, knowing he sounds anything but.  “The bathroom’s this way, right?” A hiccup forces its way up, and he tries to swallow it quietly as he stands up and starts down the hall. It feels like a lot has happened since yesterday, and his memory of the layout of the house is practically nonexistent. 

 

Ozzy knows Troy’s not okay, and he doesn’t look particularly steady on his feet either.  “Yeah, um, just down this way,” Ozzy says. He follows behind, just to make sure Troy makes it all the way.  He doesn’t want a repeat of last night. “You got it?” Ozzy asks, he’s already feeling uneasy, perhaps marginally sick to his own stomach at the idea of listening to Troy retch on an empty stomach.  But he won’t leave if he’s needed.

 

“I got it,” Troy echoes.  “I’m not gonna fall down again.”  The memory is beginning to come back.  He leaves the door cracked, though, just in case.  

 

Troy gags almost before he can get down on his knees.  The water comes up in several shallow retches. He feels dizzy and breathless by the time he finishes, but so much better that he almost loses his balance under the force of the relief.  Clammy sweat covers his forehead, and he’s badly in need of a shower, but that’s probably still a bit outside his current stamina. Troy settles for splashing water on his face; his hair sticks to his damp cheeks and falls in waves across his forehead.  He dries off with the hand towel, then reaches to open the door. 

 

Ozzy wishes he hadn’t stuck around for all of it, and at one point he’d pressed his fingers into his ears to counteract the retching. He puts on a brave face, or at least tries to, for Troy’s sake.

 

“I’m ok,” Troy croaks to Ozzy.  For once he thinks he sounds worse than he actually feels.

 

“Do you want to try a bit of Gatorade? Some electrolytes might do you some good if you can stomach it. I think our roommates have some in the pantry,” Ozzy says.  He’s not sure if this is appealing to Troy or not. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Troy looks marginally better after getting the water up.

 

“Uh, yeah, that might be good,” Troy says.  “I don’t want to push it, though.” He tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear.  “I think I should be about done with this part. Or at least close.” He looks down at his feet, a little embarrassed again to be doing this in front of Ozzy now after having gotten used to spilling his guts and his feelings in front of Julian.

 

“Okay, yeah,” Ozzy says, “I’ll get that for you.”  He hurries into the kitchen and rummages through the pantry, finding Ira’s stash of Gatorade.  He comes back to the living room then. He pops the lid off and sits it on the coffee table near Troy.  “Can I get you anything else before I head out? Julian’s not, um, I guess very good at knowing what people need and whatnot,” he laughs, glancing at his watch as he works out how long he has before he needs to leave.

 

“Thank you.  I think I’ve got everything I could possibly need right now.”  Troy looks over the table to his water, Gatorade, and TV remote, then to the couch with its pillows, blankets, and hot water bottle.  “You guys have been so kind to me. Don’t let me hold you up if you’ve got to be going. I, uh, have a feeling I’ll still be here when you get back.”  Troy resigns himself to the fact. He’s going to do this right, make sure the drugs are really clear of his system before he sets off back to school and the temptation he knows he’ll find there.  Morning classes are probably starting right around now, and Troy wonders for a moment what he’s missing. It doesn’t rate on his list of current concerns, though. If he never sets foot on campus again, it might not matter.  What he’s doing now is more important.

 

Ozzy grips the back of his neck, a bit hesitant to leave Troy alone, but he figures Julian will be up soon anyway.  He never was one to stay asleep long. “Well, okay, I’ll be back later tonight. Um, here, I’ll write my number here,” he says, bending over and scrawling the digits on a scrap piece of paper with a pen.  He throws his apron on over his head and sighs. He doesn’t want to go to work anyway, but he knows he needs to. “Hopefully it’ll be over by tonight,” Ozzy says, trying to offer Troy something to look forward to.

 

“I’m looking forward to it alright,” Troy sighs.  The renewed throbbing between his eyes is a sure sign he needs to take a sip of something.  He lowers himself gingerly back to his spot on the couch. “I’ll see you later. Hope it’s a good day at work.”  

 

Troy wonders if he’s being too friendly, but the fact that Ozzy and Julian have seen him at his lowest, a point he doesn’t want even his family to see, makes them closer than friends.  In the course of a few hours of knowing each other, they’re practically brothers.

 

“Thanks,” Ozzy grins. He likes Troy, and the longer he’s around, the more happy Ozzy is with his decision to pull over in the first place. He waves before grabbing his keys from the end table, “see you later.” He heads out the door, letting a chill in as he does so.

 

The breeze makes Troy shiver, and he’s glad when the door shuts, though he’s a bit sorry to see Ozzy go.  He feels like he should know him more personally, and he makes a mental note to learn more about him later.  Troy reaches for the still-warm hot water bottle and touches his forehead with the back of his hand to test his temperature.  He can’t tell if he feels warm or not, so he turns his attention to the Gatorade on the table. The full bottle is heavier than it should be in Troy’s shaky grip, but he manages to bring it to his lips and take a small sip.  The flavor is almost overly sweet, signaling that he’s well into dehydration territory. He chases it with a sip of water, then leans back against the couch and settles into another episode of CSI.

 

Julian blinks himself out of his sleep, a bit confused for a moment as he works himself out of his daze.  His cheek is red, and an imprint from the seam of the chair is pressed into his skin. He rubs his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, “I was probably snoring.”  He laughs for a second before pressing himself upright in the chair, stretching out and yawning. He feels better after a bit of rest. “How long was I asleep?”  He feels simultaneously like he was asleep forever and not very long at all.

 

“Naw, you were quiet,” Troy says.  He looks around for a clock, because he’s not sure either.  He’s lost track of how many episodes he’s watched, and the tingling pins-and-needles pain in his limbs makes every minute feel like an hour.  

 

The clock on the wall shows half past eleven.  It’s been longer than Troy thought, and that’s a good thing.  He forces down a sip of Gatorade before he says, “You were out for...I don’t know how early it was when you drifted off, but a few hours at least.  Ozzy left a while ago.”

 

Julian’s a bit surprised.  He doesn’t usually sleep for hours at a time.  He tosses and turns most nights. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry for leaving you on your own for so long.  Or maybe you liked that,” Julian chuckles. He shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand into his neck, a crick has formed from his sleeping position.  “You look like you’re feeling a little better,” he says.

 

“Well, you needed the sleep,” Troy says.  “I didn’t mean to keep you up all night.” He wraps his hand around his stump and rests his chin on his knuckles.  He’s restless again, but still too shaky to do much of anything. “I do feel better, though. More like I’ve got the flu and I’m laying in a pit of fire ants, but I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore.”  Troy tries to smile, but the laugh he wants to give feels more like it could come out as tears.

 

Julian tilts his head to the side.  “That sounds like hell, but probably a step up from last night.”  Troy looks unhappy, and like he’s thinking about something more than how he’s feeling physically.  He knows he’s supposed to ask about it. But Julian’s stomach growls then, and he places a hand over it.  He hasn’t eaten since the day before, when he and Ozzy stopped for lunch. “I, um, think I’m going to make some breakfast,” he says, “do you want to try to eat something?  It might help your shakes,” he says, glancing at Troy’s unsteady hands.

 

Troy considers the offer.  He’s doing ok with fluids, and his body has to be starved for calories after all he’s put it through in the last day.  He’s never felt less hungry in his life, though, and he shrugs, the choice seeming overwhelming. “Probably should,” Troy murmurs.  He watches Julian get to his feet, then stands as well, using the arm of the couch as support. “Can I, uh, hang with you while you cook?” he asks uncertainty.  “Just, you know. Change of scenery.”

 

Julian nods, “Of course you can.  Make yourself at home.” He clears a spot on the bar for Troy to sit at once they’re in the kitchen.  He opens the fridge, grabbing various breakfast things. He’s not very good at food, but breakfast is somethings he’s decent at.  “I, uh, worked in a 24 hour breakfast diner freshman year,” Julian smirks, spraying cooking oil over a pan. “But I’ll try to keep it bland,” he adds after the fact, remembering Troy’s predicament. 

 

“That must’ve been an experience,” Troy says.  He latches onto the fact that Julian’s in school, and takes the opportunity to get the spotlight off of himself for a moment.  “What’re you studying?”

 

Julian laughs, “Um, I’m not really studying much of anything these days… I’m  _ supposed _ to be studying sociology, though.”  He shakes his head, “I’ve um, changed my major a few times.  I’m not really sure I’m even invested in this one… especially since last year...”  He cracks several eggs into the pan as he trails off. “What about you?”

 

“Well, psychology,” Troy says with a half-hearted laugh of his own.  He rests his elbows on the bar. “But besides that, it’s the same story, actually.  My dad wants me to start at the academy as soon as I get my degree…” He shakes his head, then realizes he’s failed to specify.  “The police academy. He’s a cop. I’d rather be anything but. I’m still figuring out the ‘anything’ part, I guess.”

 

“Hmm, yeah.  I just knew I needed to pick a major.  I’m set to graduate on time but I don’t even know what I can do with a sociology degree,” he scoffs, adding salt and pepper to the scrambled eggs.  “You don’t really seem like the cop type… which is a compliment,” He cringes internally for a second before adding, “No offense to your dad.”

 

“Oh, well,” Troy waffles, “He kind of deserves it, if I’m honest.  We don’t...really stand for the same principles. He’s kind of a...a good ol’ boy, I guess would be the right term.”  Troy’s stomach rumbles, and he hopes it’s from emptiness instead of illness this time. Mentally, he’s still indifferent to the food being prepare in front of him.  “If my dad, or anyone in my family, really, except maybe Fran, if they knew what I got up to at school… I’d have my tuition yanked in a minute.”

 

Julian hums, “I kind of get that.  All of it, really. My dad’s… uh, kind of an asshole.  We don’t see eye to eye on anything. And I got into… well, a lot of trouble on campus.  It’s been a bit better since I’ve been with Ozzy, though,” he grabs two plates from the cabinet before scraping a portion onto each of them.  “Don’t, uh, think you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t eat all that. Probably best to take it slow,” he says before handing Troy a fork, sliding the plate in front of him.

 

“Thanks.”  Troy takes the fork and looks over the food.  True to his word, Julian’s kept it bland with simple toast and eggs.  Troy pokes at the scramble, but changes his mind and tears a corner off the toast instead.  He chews for a long time before he finally swallows and says, “Good on you for doing better.  And I see what you mean about Ozzy. He helped me out while you were asleep.” Troy pulls off another bite of toast and hesitates before putting it in his mouth.  “I wish I could be so, I don’t know. Committed. To just putting all this behind me. I’m getting clean, and I want it to be for good. I just...it’s like I can’t trust myself.”

 

Julian frowns.  He feels like he’s misled Troy.  He’s really no better than him. Not really. Same problems, but different vice.  “No, um, I mean, I wouldn’t say I’ve put anything behind me. I, uh, I actually think if anything I’ve just kind of brought it with me into my relationship with Oz… which, y’know.  Sucks,” he says with a shrug as he takes a bite of his eggs. 

 

“Oh.”  Troy doesn’t want to make Julian feel bad, and he already feels like he’s imbued his words with the wrong tone.  He fishes for something to say, something that doesn’t start with  _ at least. _  Troy had heard enough of those from the endless parade of doctors and nurses and well-meaning pseudo-friends he’d had during high school.   _ At least you still have one good hand.  At least you still have your good looks.  At least you still have your legs for running track. _

 

Troy finally takes the bite of toast, and he chews it for a long time again.  “It’s always hard bringing other people into it,” he says. “But it’s hard to get through it alone too.”  He takes a small amount of eggs on his fork. It doesn't feel polite to keep talking about himself, but he doesn’t want to force Julian, so he hesitantly launches into his story.  

 

“I was 17 the first time I dried out.  My mom found out I was using for more than just the pain, and, well, what else was she gonna do?  She let me get through it at home instead of going to rehab, but that was probably because she felt bad about not noticing for two years…”  Troy takes a deep breath and presses on. “This time, I’ve only just told Fran, and god, I can’t even pin down how I feel about that.”

 

Julian takes a bite of his toast and wipes his hands on his napkin.  “Your family seems to care a lot about you,” he says, thinking of his own family.  His parents don’t even know how dark things have gotten for him. They don’t even know that he’d been hooked on anything, not really.  He can’t imagine talking to his brothers about anything important, either. He hasn’t even met one of his own nephews. “It’s good for you to have that support.”

 

“Support, yeah,” Troy says.  “But they have...expectations.  That I’ll grow up one of these days and forget about everything I stand for and...settle down, I guess.”  He takes a mouthful of eggs, but they feel heavy and gluey on his tongue. Troy swallows and puts down his fork.  “I meant to wait and take that last pill in the morning before I got on the road, so I wouldn’t start getting the shakes till I was back at school.  But truth is, it’s getting hard to be around them and not say things that piss them off. Especially my dad. I’ve got to be so clammed up every time I’m around him.  I don’t know how to relax anymore, not without...help.”

 

Julian raises his brows, chewing a bite.  He’s sort of full now, after having only eaten half of his eggs.  He puts his fork down and takes a sip of his water bottle. “Yeah… I, um, definitely relate to that,” he says.  “I don’t really have anything to do with my family at all. My dad thinks they should have stopped having kids after my two older brothers,” he smirks, “But, oops.”  He shrugs, forking through his eggs. “I used to be really a lot worse about my drinking. I didn’t know how to function without it. I guess I still don’t, really… maybe now I just don’t function very well.”  He blinks, feeling like he’s oversharing. He shouldn’t be talking about himself, not while Troy is here to get clean. Troy is having a much harder time than him. He bites his lip, “But, uh, maybe you should take a break from visiting home until you’re more solid in your sobriety, if he stresses you out like that.”

 

Troy lets out his breath in a long, slow exhale.  He’s been thinking the same thing, for a while really, but it’s different to hear it coming from someone else’s mouth rather than just echoing in the corners of his brain.  It’s an obvious solution, and he feels stupid for ignoring it for so long. 

 

But there’s bigger piece behind it.  If he’s cutting out situations that threaten his sobriety, that means he has nowhere to go.  His college dorm and pill-popping roommate are decidedly negative influences. He’d been too wrapped up in addiction to care that everyone in his circle knew about his substance abuse and one-night stands.  Now just thinking about it makes him feel sick. 

 

Troy’s thoughts flick back to home, to his father’s violent commentary on the portions of his son’s life he actually knew about, and he imagines what his dad would say about the portions he keeps a secret.  If Troy takes off without looking back, he’ll have next to nothing. Just his car and a duffle of dirty clothes. He supposes he’ll have Julian and Ozzy, and maybe Fran still on his side. But if he’s going to really get better, he’s going to have to start over.  The longer Troy thinks about it, the more he thinks the only thing worse than taking off in a new direction is sitting still.

 

“I… Yeah,” Troy says, knowing he’s been silent too long to carry the conversation.  He pushes his plate an inch away, though he’s barely touched his food. Anxiety is twisting his gut now, but he pushes it down under the weight of his decision.  “I don’t think I can go back there.”

 

Julian raises his eyebrows. He hadn’t really realized before then, the weight of his suggestion.  He glances down at the counter, then back at Troy. “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” he says. “The eggs too much for you?”

 

“Um.  Sorry,” Troy says, looking back to his plate.  He feels like an ungrateful guest, his current state of illness notwithstanding.  “It’s all kind of a bit much. I just got to thinking, and, well…” he breaks off shaking his head.  “I don’t really know what I’m doing anymore. With my family, or with anything.”

 

Julian blinks, “It’s okay, really.”  He takes his own plate and dumps the remaining eggs into the garbage disposal.  “It sounds like you have a lot of decisions to be making, I know that’s probably overwhelming,” Julian says, turning the sink on.  He has no useful advice. He sprays water down the plate and runs a sponge over the pepper that sticks to it. “And it’s okay to be overwhelmed.”

 

Troy tucks his hair behind his ear and looks for something to keep his shaky hand busy so the awful feeling of sitting still while his world crumbles around him will dissipate.  “Yeah, that’s… I know,” he sighs. “I guess I’ve just always had someone telling me what to do and where to go when I’ve struggled before. And it’s hard to know if I’m going down the right path.”

 

Julian wrings his hands out, turning off the water.  “Well, you want to get better, yeah? That means you’re already started down the right path.  And you’ve just about got it out of you now. So… all that’s left to do is keep choosing that, over and over.  Which, I guess is really the hard part about it. And your family… I’m not really much help in that arena, but something tells me it would probably do you some good to spend time apart.” He shrugs, “But, uh, I’m no mage when it comes to solving problems.  I usually create them,” he ends on a sheepish laugh. “Are you going to eat anymore?” He asks, ready to take the second plate away for washing.

 

Troy’s anxiety is too high to let him force down any more, though in his weakened state, the food would probably do him good.  “Not right now,” he says. “I’ll try again in a while, if you want to save it?” He hates the idea of wasting good food. He mulls over the rest of what Julian’s said.  

 

“Time apart, yeah.  That’s… I need it. I gotta figure out what I’m doing before I tell Fran.  Or better if I don’t tell her. I don't want her coming after me, and believe me, she’ll come after me.”   Troy folds over the corner on a piece of junk mail on the edge of the bar. “She’ll think she can fix it.”

 

Julian pulls the corner of his lip up, amused.  He grabs the plate and dumps the eggs into the sink.  As much as he also hates wasting food, he hates the idea of Troy’s first real meal after being so sick being reheated, hours-old scrambled eggs.  “Let me know when you’re hungry and I’ll fix you something else,” he says, turning on the garbage disposal for a few seconds before turning it off again.  “It must be nice to have someone who cares about you so much.”

 

“You’re too kind,” Troy says.  Then, “Fran’s always been...my protector, I guess.  Even back when we were little. People thought we were too close, that we should have more of our own friends, but they just didn’t get it.”  He runs his thumb nail over the crease he’s made in the envelope. “She was the fat kid and I was the gay kid, and we were keeping each other’s secrets before we knew they  _ were  _ secrets.  Now that she knows I’ve been hiding things from her…  The one person in my family I still want to be around, and I’ve gone and screwed things up, however nice she’s acting about it.”

 

Julian hums, “I mean, I’m sure that she will come around… you know, now that you’re gonna stay clean.”  He loads the last part, raising his brows while he makes sure Troy caught it. He wipes his hands on a dish towel.  “Your sister loves you, you haven’t screwed  _ that _ up.”

 

“Yeah, she’s stuck by me all this time.  She’s too nice, nicer than I deserve. So I know she’s got to be thinking something awful, even if it never comes out to my face.”  Troy looks up at Julian. “And I am definitely gonna stay clean. I feel a lot better than I did, but, god, I don’t think anything’s worth feeling like this.”

 

Julian grins.  “That’s good to hear,” he says.  He puts the hand towel away and leans against the counter.  “You know you’re a good guy right? You shouldn’t be so tough on yourself.  I haven’t known you very long, and, well, I’m not a very good judge of character,” he laughs, “But I can tell.”

 

“Um.  Well,”  Troy laughs too.  “I’m not sure I quite believe you, but I won’t pretend that’s not nice to hear.”  He abandons the envelope he’s been playing with and clasps his hand over his stump again.  Now that he’s voiced his commitment to be clean, he feels like he should do something about the fact that he’s a sweaty mess.  “Would it be ok if I took a shower?” Troy asks. “I promise I won’t fall down again.”

 

Julian chuckles, “Yeah, absolutely. Shower’s in there, towels are under the sink,” he says, gesturing towards the hallway. “There’s body wash and all that in the tub.”

 

“Thank you so much.”  Troy sees his duffle sitting on the floor in the entryway.  He slowly bends to pick it up, and as he does so, he remembers hastily packing up his things before getting in his car and starting the drive back to campus.  Everything in the bag is rumpled and dirty. “I’m sorry,” he says, turning back to Julian. “Would you mind if I did a load of wash?” He gestures to his bag. “I’m out of clothes.”  Troy pulls guiltily at the sleeve of the borrowed shirt he’s wearing. In his varied states of delirium, he’s wiped his hands on it one too many times. “And I’ve got crud all over this too.”

 

Julian stands up straight, “Yeah, sure you can.  Laundry’s just in there.” He gestures behind him towards the doorway.  “Do you want me to grab it for you?” He asks, noting Troy’s still-weakened state. 

 

Troy knows he should give in and accept the help.  After the night they’ve had, they’re way past the point of judgement.  But Troy still has an ounce of pride, and he’s going to hold onto it as best he can.  “I can get it, I think.” He wills his arm not to shake as he throws the strap of his duffle over his shoulder.  “But d’you think I could borrow another shirt, just until my stuff gets clean?”

 

“Yeah, totally,” Julian says, pushing off the counter and heading into the laundry room.  He rummages through the laundry basket full of his and Ozzy’s clothes before pulling out one of his t-shirts – the only t-shirt he can find in the whole basket that belongs to him.  He heads back into the kitchen and holds it out for Troy. “It’s one of my favorites. Don’t go, I dunno, ripping it or anything,” he says with a grin.

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Troy says.  “Thank you.” He gives Julian an awkward smile and turns to head for the bathroom.  

 

He starts the water first and lets it heat up.  Troy catches a glimpse of his bare chest in the fogging mirror as he strips down, and he thinks he looks thinner than usual.  It would make sense that he’s lost weight over the last couple of days. Getting some food down moves up a notch on his list of priorities.  

 

As he steps under the spray, Troy mentally goes over his conversation with Julian.  He’s embarrassed he talked so much about himself, revealing things he’d normally never put out there for a stranger to examine.  But in reality, he’s never had someone to listen. Someone who’s not related to him and who’s had some of the same experiences. He thinks about what Julian had said, about the accident, about his drinking.  Troy feels for him. 

 

Meanwhile, Julian takes to tidying. He folds the blankets up and finishes the dishes before deciding he’s earned a cigarette.  He hasn’t had one since Troy’s been around. He heads outside and leans up against the railing on the porch. The fog has lifted from the yard now, and it’s starting to warm up more now that the sun has come out.  He flicks a lighter against the end of his cigarette and inhales, taking a long drag before exhaling. Somewhere in his talks with Troy, memories have stirred in him, and he’s not sure that’s a good thing. He hates the weighed-down, miserable feeling he totes around with him at all times, flaring up at a moment’s notice.  Some days the feeling is portable, the size of a book bag, and other days it’s the size of a shipping container, so heavy it stops him in his tracks. He does good to forget about it, but having Troy around has reminded him of the feelings he used to feel, and maybe some of the ones he still does. He wants a drink, badly, he realizes. But he won’t get one. Not today. 

 

Troy finishes his shower and dresses in Julian’s t-shirt and the clean-enough sweatpants he’d had on before.  He takes in the stubble coming in along his jaw, not liking what he sees, but not trusting his hand to be steady enough to do anything about it.  Troy folds the towel neatly over the bar and pads barefoot down the hall. He doesn’t see Julian immediately, so he sees to moving the laundry to the dryer before stepping into the living room to look for him.  Troy feels odd about it, but he doesn’t want to be alone. 

 

A shadow moves outside the window, and he recognizes Julian’s silhouette out on the porch.  Troy wishes he could stop trembling as he slides open the door, but he resigns that it’s not going away anytime soon.  At least it’s a constant reminder of his newfound commitment to sobriety. “Hey,” Troy says, leaning up on the railing beside Julian.  “I moved the laundry. I hope that was alright.” He catches the pensive expression on the other boy’s face. “You ok?”

 

Julian straightens quickly, surprised by Troy’s sudden presence.  He snuffs the cigarette against the column to the porch. “Oh, hey, sorry, I was just… I guess, thinking.”  He waits a second, then leans back against the railing. “How was your shower? Find everything okay?” He asks.  He is almost certain Troy does not want to hear about his melodrama while enduring his own.

 

“It feels good to be clean,” Troy says.  “In a, uh, hygienic sense, I guess.” He rests his stump against his palm behind his back.  “I’m so grateful to have a place to stay for the moment, while I do this.” He pauses. “I hope me being here isn’t making things hard for you,” Troy murmurs.  “Like, if you’ve got other stuff to do, or, well, you know.” He doesn’t want to infer how Julian’s feeling in case he’s guessing wrong, but Troy feels some of the same anxiety and tension he’d been feeling hours earlier now exuding from his new friend.

 

Julian blinks, then looks back out over the grass.  He wishes he weren’t so readable. Troy must feel so unwelcome.  “It’s really got nothing to do with you, more with me…” He runs a hand through his hair.  “I’m not exactly the soberest around either. But, it’s not your fault. I sort of just feel really anxious all the time.”  He bites at the corner of his thumbnail. “I would feel this way whether you were here or not.”

 

“Hm,” Troy sighs.  He’s gone and made things more awkward in his attempts to be friendly.  But Julian’s been so patient with him; Troy feels he should return the favor.  And more than obligation, he’s interested in Julian’s life. For all the kindness he’s given Troy, he deserves a spot of happiness.  Or at least the opportunity to get his feelings off his chest. 

 

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re putting up appearances all the time,” Troy says.  “It just eats at your guts. Whatever’s going on for you, I’m not gonna judge. Not after you picked me up off the side of the road.”

 

Julian bites his lip, shaking his head.  “You think I’m a really good person, but I’m not, not really.  Ozzy’s… uh, he’s the one who wanted to pull over. I’m glad we scooped you now, but I was perfectly fine with driving past you,” he says, digging his thumb nail into the wooden railing.  His voice catches on a lump that’s formed in his throat. He hates how easily overwhelmed he is. He’s very rarely felt like he could speak candidly about anything to anyone. Troy feels like one of those people he could talk to, but it’s one thing to say you won’t judge until you know what’s running through his brain.

 

“Well, I probably would’ve driven past me, if I’m honest,” Troy says.  He brings his arms around his front and puts his elbows on the rail, balancing his chin on his stump and his knuckles.  “I know Ozzy’s a good person just from knowing him a few minutes. I’ve spent a lot longer with you, and…” Troy shakes his head a little.  “You sat up with me all night to make sure I didn’t drown in your toilet. You might be running away from something, but you’re not bad. A bad person wouldn’t’ve done what you did for me.”

 

Julian hums.  “Well, I was a lot worse before…” he trails off before clearing his throat.  He can’t really hold it back now, Troy knows somethings up. “Um. Yeah. I got into a really bad accident when I was driving drunk.  And, my best friend Nat died.” 

 

He  _ hates _ this.  He hates it every single time he has to mull this story over, the look on nearly everyone’s face when they hear him say it, and realize the audacity it takes to try and get pity for something he caused in the first place.  He can’t even bring himself to look at Troy. 

 

“It was just last year.  I stopped everything for a while, but… alcohol helps to stop some of the thoughts.”  He has a sick pit in his stomach now, and he presses into the rail, trying to abate the anxiety building up.  He’d much rather be talking about Troy right now.

 

“Oh…”  Troy had guessed something horrible had happened, but hearing it is still a shock.  He can feel his heart fluttering down in his stomach as empathy for Julian floods through him.  “I’m...I’m really sorry.” He doesn’t use the full  _ sorry for your loss _ canned phrase he’s learned from his father and too many television shows.  But he can’t think of anything better to say either. 

 

Troy tries to keep his shaky breathing quiet for a moment, then he says, “I can’t imagine how hard it is.”  His own problems seem small by comparison. He’s been a jerk to people when he was high and done some things he regretted, but the only life he’d really ruined was his own.  Troy almost feels guilty for still being haunted by his own accident. How terrible it must have been for Julian to witness his panic attack last night, having been through such a weightier trauma himself.  “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand,” Troy says. “But, just, you know, doing what you’re doing now, it’s good.”

 

Julian thinks over Troy’s words, then nods.  “It’s okay, I guess it’s just hard to move on sometimes. I’m nowhere near as bad as I used to be… I know that, it just kind of feels like I want to make these big leaps… and I’m only making small steps.  But, it’s progress anyway. I’m, uh, sorry for dropping that on you like that… I don’t know why I did that.”

 

“It’s alright,” Troy says, looking at Julian with an open expression.  “It makes a little sense for it to come up, after I’ve thrown my life story on you.”  He sniffles and wipes his nose with his stump. He’ll never understand why withdrawal does that to him.  

 

“I get how it is for improvement not to be how you want it,” Troy continues.  “I don’t know how many times I told myself I was taking my last pill. You can make up your mind all you want, but real change takes time.  I think you’re doing right, even if the steps are smaller than you want.” He takes a breath and says, “If things hadn’t worked out the way they did yesterday, I think I would’ve caved.  I wouldn’t’ve made it this far. I’ve really got you to thank.”

 

Julian smiles.  “Well, I’m glad they worked out that way then.  It makes sense why I’d be caught up in all this, but you’re too nice to have all of this on your shoulders all the time.  You deserve to be clean and sober.” He rubs a hand over his chin and then blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, I really want to finish that cigarette after all that,” he laughs, “I’m not very good with talking about emotions.”

 

“Have a smoke if you want, don’t let me stop you,” Troy says.  “Unless you’re trying to quit.” He smiles. “You don’t have to be good with emotions.  You just have to put up with them. At least some of the time.” Troy laughs too, even though the joke is weak.

 

Julian flicks the lighter and relights the bottom of the cigarette, turning away from Troy and holding a hand to block the wind. He blows out, away from Troy.  “No,” he laughs, “trying to start with my most detrimental vices first and work my way down the list. Nail biting will probably be the very last to go. Or Taco Bell.”  He takes another long drag and then lets out the smoke while turning away again. 

 

“That one won’t kill you,” Troy snickers.  “At least not for a long time.” He second guesses his choice of words, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.  The breeze ruffles his damp hair and sends a chill down his spine. Troy attempts a mental calculation of the count of hours it’s been since that final dose, but it’s easier to just tick off the days now.  A solid two, he thinks. He still feels vaguely feverish, but much more like himself. 

 

Julian finishes the final puff of his cigarette, snuffing it once more on the railing.  “True enough.” He places the tiny butt in the ashtray that sits on the perch of the stair railing.  “You look a lot better than you did yesterday, I’m sure a shower helped you feel better,” he says.

 

“Oh, I do.  I’m still getting there, but I’m a lot better than I was when I couldn’t get up off the bathroom floor.”  Troy unclenches his hand to gauge the tremor. It’s still there, but maybe a bit less pronounced than it was earlier.  “I’ll be up and at ‘em soon. And out of your hair.” He smiles, but he’s only half-joking. 

 

Julian shakes his head with a laugh.  “You’re not in my hair. I get into a lot less trouble when other people keep me busy.”  He turns, pressing his back against the column. “Do you, uh, think you’re gonna be able to stay clean at school and all?”

 

“Well,” Troy says, cocking his head to the side and weighing his words.  “If I’m honest, not really.” He knows how it sounds, so he quickly adds, “I’d rather be clean than be in school, at least for now.  Maybe for the rest of the semester. Maybe...maybe forever.” The thought’s barely been in his head for a few hours, and he has no idea how it’ll work out in practice, but if he gets in his car and drives someplace where nobody knows him and finds a job and an apartment, he feels like he’ll have a better chance to get back on his feet.  Troy shivers at the thought of telling his parents, or even Fran. He’s glad he has a chance to run it by Julian first.

 

Julian bites the inside of his cheek before nodding.  “You don’t know how many times I’ve wished I could leave school and… this whole city, really.  If you can do it, you should. A change of pace, scenery, it’ll do you some good.” He feels a twinge in his stomach and works out for a second what that feeling is.  Jealousy. He’s jealous that Troy is even able to entertain the idea. Still, he should do it.

 

“It’s not gonna make too many people happy with me,” Troy says.  “My parents will probably cut me off within a week, but as long as I can get a job, I suppose it’s good riddance.  At least, for now,” he repeats. He doesn’t want to lock himself in to anything before he’s had a chance to really try it out.  But deep down, he knows the only way he’s going to get any better is if he has complete autonomy, the ability to make his own choices and do what he thinks is best.  He’d turned to the drugs in the first place because they’d been an easy fix for a lack of freedom. “I’m kind of scared of the change,” Troy admits. “But I think I’m more scared to go back to the same thing.”

 

Julian nods.  “Change can be good.  It’ll be good for you.  It’ll shake up that routine.  It’s so easy to fall into a routine,” Julian says.  He’s thinking of his own routines. He won’t leave though.  He’s afraid he’ll be here forever. “You deserve a change.”

 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Troy says with a laugh.  “But...I think I’m gonna take it.” Julian seems subdued again, and as much as he tells Troy everything is alright, Troy’s afraid he’s upsetting him.  He feels for Julian, and because they’re so similar, Troy feels an inherent obligation to offer the same support he’s receiving. “You sure you’re doing alright?” he presses tentatively.

 

Julian shrugs, “I guess that… it’s just got me thinking about a lot of stuff. I’m sorry,” Julian says.  He draws in a deep breath. He wishes he weren’t so obvious about things. He stares out over the grass.  Truth be told, he’s not been around another addict in a while. He’s not talked about any of this in a while.

 

Troy nods.  “It’s really alright.  I think maybe I open up too easily.  If you want to keep talking about it, I’m happy to listen.  But if you don’t want to, I get that too”

 

Julian raises his brows.  He’s never really been given much of an option before.  Usually Ozzy was insistent that he share. “I guess, I just have a lot of regrets tied to this town… it’s really hard to get out of my own head here.  But, Ozzy’s here. I don’t think he’d ever leave. And I’d never leave him willingly.” He runs a hand through his curls. “I just kind of feel stuck.”

 

“Well, you do have a lot of good things going for you.”  Troy traces the wood grain of the railing with his thumbnail.  “But sometimes what you feel doesn’t line up with the logic. Things are always gonna be hard, no matter what choices you make.  You just have to stick with what you do.” He’s lapsing into talking about himself again. Troy takes a breath and tries to cut the nervous habit.  

 

“Yeah, I mean… I don’t think this feeling will ever go away…  I think I’ll probably be trying to run away from it forever. But, I mean, I don’t really feel like I get to be too sad about it. I can’t throw any pity parties.  I did it.” Julian’s getting that familiar angry-at-himself feeling that stirs in his chest when he thinks about the fact that he’s caused so much pain, not only for himself, but for everyone around him as well. He shakes his head, “I mean, I sort of feel like I deserve to feel this way.”

 

“I don’t think you do,” Troy says with conviction.  “But, then again, I see the good in people. Maybe too much, but I think it’s possible to change.  Who you were doesn’t have to be who you are.” He sees the pain Julian struggles with, and he wishes he had a better method to offer to alleviate it.  For such a good person to be struggling so much… It makes his heart hurt.

 

Julian lets out a slow breath.  “Yeah. I guess it’s just the moving on part I struggle with. I didn’t really think…” he trails off before clearing his throat. “I guess I didn’t really think I was doing anything wrong, because we would have been fine if nothing happened.  And I didn’t think anything was going to happen, like that… we were invincible, until, you know. Until we weren’t.” He’s stammering now, and he scoffs. “I don’t know if that makes any sense…”

 

“It makes perfect sense,” Troy says.  “That’s...yeah.” It brings to mind the contrast of his own situation.  He could easily have died in his accident, but instead of being a wake up-call of his own fragility, it had made him numb and eager to self-destruct.  That’s the part that didn’t make sense. “You’ve got a good reason to hold onto it,” Troy says carefully. “But, that doesn’t mean keeping it close is a good thing.”

 

Julian nods. He knows this.  “It’s kind of nice to feel like I have a friend again,” he says, “not to get sappy or anything, but… I mean, all of my friends now are really just Ozzy’s friends who are putting up with me.”  He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve actually had a friend in a long time, so I’m sorry if I’m bad at it.” He laughs, twiddling a leaf that landed on the railing in his fingers.

 

“Oh, trust me, I’m as rusty at this as you are,” Troy laughs.  “The number of people I’ve talked to who haven’t been my family or stoners who’ll forget all about it the next minute… well, that’s zero.  I’m glad it’s good. It’s good for me, too.” The emotional openness adds to Troy’s exhaustion, and his head chooses that moment to kick up the throb again.  He’s reminded of his need to hydrate and refuel. Maybe rest. And definitely fold his laundry. “I think it’s about time I check on that dryer,” he says, patting the railing and taking a step toward the door.

 

Julian smirks, letting out a breath he hasn’t realize he’s been holding.   He feels almost lighter, like he can stand upright for the first time in a long time. He turns and follows Troy inside.  He’s exhausted, too. Julian’s never been good for long with no rest. He heads back into the kitchen and takes the opportunity to check his phone.  Ozzy’s asked twice how things were going, in slightly different ways. He texts back, everything’s fine. Much, much better now. 

 

Ozzy says he’s heading home soon; work’s overstaffed. Julian clicks his phone to lock it and he leans over the counter, stretching his back out.  Troy re-enters the kitchen from the laundry room and plops down on the sofa with a load of laundry in front of him on the ottoman. 

 

“You wanna try to eat again? My few bites of eggs aren’t going to hold me over through lunch,” Julian grins.

 

“Sure,” Troy says.  He’s hungry now, or at least he thinks he is.  The ache in his stomach is less sickly. He’s gone more than a day without proper sustenance, and his tremors are probably due to low blood sugar as much as they are to the prolonged withdrawal.  “I should finish this first, though,” he says, nodding at his laundry. There’s not a lot of it, but with the shakes and the limitations with his hand, it’s going to take him a few minutes. 

 

“Yeah, for sure.  Is there anything in particular you want?  I can cook or we can walk up the street, there’s a few spots up there to eat.  Up to you, though,” Julian grins. He’s feeling like a walk might do the two of them some good, so long as Troy’s feeling up to it.  “Ozzy should be home soon, he could go with us.”

 

“That would be real nice,” Troy says, clamping a pair of jeans between his hand and his stump and folding them over.  “I owe you guys one, it’ll be my treat.” 

 

He tries to come up with an answer for what he’s hungry for.  His stomach is still weak, but the post-sickness craving for grease and salt is beginning to start up.  “What place makes the best French fries?”

 

A grin takes over Julian’s face.  He’s surprised by the answer, but he understands it too. “There’s a perfect burger spot down the block, we can go there.  Ozzy will be happy, he loves their milkshakes.”

 

“That sounds great.”  Troy returns the grin.  He works his way through the rest of his laundry pile, then takes up a pair of pants and a t-shirt and gets to his feet.  “I’m gonna change,” he says, starting toward the bathroom. “You’ll probably be glad to have your shirt back.”

 

Julian laughs. “You will probably feel better in your own clothes.  I’m gonna hop in the shower upstairs. I’ll be back in a few,” he says, pushing himself up from the couch and heading towards the stairs, leaving Troy downstairs.

 

Troy shuts the bathroom door, not bothering to lock it this time.  He shakes his head at the memory of locking himself in yesterday. A lot has changed since then.  He’s steadier on his feet, for one. And his guard’s lower. He doesn’t need to turn the bolt to feel safe.  

 

He pulls Julian’s shirt over his head and loosely folds it on the counter before putting on his own.  He’s not quite sure why he bothers, since he’s had it on for a few hours and Julian will probably want it to be clean before he wears it again.  But something in Troy makes him feel like it needs to be respected. It’s one of Julian’s favorites, after all.

 

Troy steps into his jeans and struggles a little with the button.  It’s not just the tremors giving him difficulty; it’s like his grip is weaker than it was a couple days ago.  Being sick has sapped his strength. 

 

Once he’s dressed, Troy looks at himself in the mirror.  He’s pale, and there are dark circles under his eyes. His hair’s a little fluffy, but a few swipes from a brush left on the counter corrects that.  It’s not perfect, but he looks like himself. Maybe more like himself than he’s been in the last couple of years.

 

The thought makes a heavy weight sink through Troy’s chest.  He’s eager to get on with things, find a new routine where his past problems will be eliminated.  But he’s also terrified. College has kept him in a bubble of professors and papers with a heavy side of pill-popping.  Moving to a new town is a thrilling prospect, and one he knows he needs to run toward if anything is going to work out. But it is running toward the unknown, and that scares him.

 

That doesn’t need to be the biggest worry right now, though, Troy reminds himself as he flattens his hair one more time and lets himself out of the bathroom.  He’s getting food first. Then he’ll finish packing and make the promised phone call to Fran. He’ll take the future in small steps.

 

Julian is in the living room again, dressed and showered.  He’s flipping through channels, a towel comically wrapped in a turban around his hair.  He held up a hand, “Don’t laugh, this hair is a lot to manage,” he smirks. 

 

“Oh, I won’t,” Troy promises, though he smiles and barely contains a friendly chuckle.  “I was just dealing with mine.” He pushes a strand behind his ear. “People say it’s vain or girly or whatever, but you got to look good.”  He does laugh this time, if only to prove that he’s not serious.

 

Julian laughs too, “Ozzy thinks I’m ridiculous about my hair.  It’s curly, and so is his… but, he’s got the  _ good _ curls.”  Julian shrugs, “It’s not all fun and games, looking this good.”

 

Troy nods.  “I got the straight hair, but I still empathize.  It’s about the only thing about me that is.” He blushes.  It isn’t often that he makes fun of himself like this, but he’s so comfortable here it’s almost disconcerting.

 

Julian chuckles, Troy was so quick with the joke he almost missed it entirely.  “Yeah well, you’re in good company around this house. Lots of gays with very difficult hair around these parts.” he grins. 

 

Troy laughs again as he finds his duffle bag and begins transferring his clothes inside.  The action makes him think about leaving again, and he has to make an effort to calm his mind.  It’ll happen soon enough, but he’s not ready yet. 

 

“So,” Troy starts, bringing himself back to the present.  “Where does Ozzy work?” He wants go get to know Ozzy better, and Troy looks forward to seeing him when they meet for their early dinner.  After what Julian’s said about Ozzy being the one to insist on picking him up off the side of the road, Troy wants to thank him again personally.

 

Julian lights up at the opportunity to talk about Ozzy. “He works at the Freshie’s. It’s a grocery store down the street. He’s a manager, actually,” Julian beams. “He kind of hates it a lot, though,” Julian’s smile morphs into a frown, “Mostly embarrassed, I think.”

 

“Well, being a manager is great.  I bet he’s a good one, too. Easy to respect.”  Troy tucks his clothes into the bag and zips it up.  “I don’t think it’s anything to be embarrassed about,” he says softly.  “When I get to starting over, who knows what I’ll end up doing…” 

 

There he goes, thinking about the future again.  Troy hopes his two years of college will give him some weight in landing a job, but without a degree or much experience under his belt, he just isn’t sure.  He swallows down the sour edge of self-doubt and sets his duffle by the front door before going to join Julian on the couch. 

 

Julian notices the wary look that flickers over Troy’s face when he says that. pulls the towel from his head, rubbing it into his hair once more for good measure, then drapes it over his neck. His damp curls are everywhere. He needs a brush.

 

“Whatever it is, it’s gonna be great,” Julian says emphatically, one corner of his lip pulled up in a smile. 

 

“I hope so,” Troy sighs, trying to keep his voice positive.  He turns his attention to the show playing on the TV, but it isn’t one he recognizes.  Now that he’s sitting down, his eyelids feel heavy, and he’s reminded of the fact that he’s barely slept in the past two days.  Sleep jumps up a couple places on Troy’s mental to-do list, but he’s too antsy to take a nap now, and real hunger is setting in.  He’d been hoping to pull away after eating and talking to Frances again, but the exhaustion dashes his hopes of getting back on the road tonight.  

 

The front door swings open and Ozzy enters, hanging up his apron on the hook on the wall. Julian smiles, sitting up. 

 

“Hey guys,” Ozzy smiles, “wow, Troy, you look like you feel much better now.  Was Julian nice enough to you?” he asks playfully.

 

“Oh, he’s been great.”  Troy sits up straighter too.  “You both have, really. For letting me stay.”

 

Ozzy waves a hand dismissively, “It was no problem. You’re welcome anytime. Really. I’m starved, are you guys ready to go?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, I think I’m actually hungry,” Troy says with a laugh.  “I’m still getting back to myself, but I do feel a lot better.”  He gets to his feet and finds his shoes. The late-afternoon sun shining through the window looks inviting.  Troy’s looking forward to soaking up the vitamin D as much as he is sitting down to a meal.

 

“Well let’s head out.  Julian, do something about your hair,” Ozzy says over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs.

 

Julian glances at Troy with a told-you-so look, and smiles, jumping up from the couch. He heads into the bathroom and runs a brush through his mop.

 

Troy grins and waits a moment for the boys to return.  Julian comes back with his hair tamed and coiffed. Ozzy comes downstairs now too; his shirt is different and he looks tired, but excited to eat. They head out the door together, the summer sun beating harshly, but it’s a welcome feeling compared to being in the house all day.

 

“Bet the sun feels good after all you’ve been through,” Ozzy says to Troy as they start down the sidewalk.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Troy agrees.  He knows he’s reached a new shade of pale in the past couple days of illness.  “I’ll toast if I stay out in it too long, but it sure does feel good.” The last dregs of withdrawal’s fever keep him from feeling over-warm, but the languid heat and humidity relax away some of the remaining shakes.  

 

They follow the sidewalk up a few blocks to the restaurant, and Troy can smell fry oil and grilled meat before they reach the door.  A few hours ago, it would have been sickening, but now it makes his mouth water. He’s happy for the change.

 

Julian grins, pulling open the door and holding it for the other two.  “Best damn french fries in the city!” He declares. 

 

Ozzy laughs.  “Don’t go getting any salads or anything like that. Julian insists this place is great, but you don’t need food poisoning on top of everything else,” he jokes behind his hand to Troy.  

 

Julian playfully pushes him. “Don’t tarnish her reputation like that!  I’ve never been mistreated by her. The food’s great, Troy.”

 

The three find a booth and slide in, Troy on one side and the other two on the other side. “I never thought you’d be hungry again,” Julian laughs, looking at his menu, “but I bet you’re starved. What’ll you have?”

 

“I should still probably take it a little easy,” Troy says, taking in the options.  “A side of fries, I think. And maybe a vanilla shake.” He nods, affirming his choice.  “I know it’s not much, but I’m a boring eater at the best of times.” Troy closes his menu.  

 

He pulls his phone from his back pocket and glances at the screen before setting it face-down on the table.  No new texts pop up. It seems Fran is holding to her word and waiting to hear from him. It’s good that she’s not worrying, since, for once, she doesn’t need to.

 

“I think I’m gonna get chicken tenders and french fries,” Julian says sheepishly, and Ozzy laughs.

 

“Looks like the unadventurous eaters are in good company.  I’m gonna do the ‘Shroom ‘n Swiss burger… and a strawberry shake,” Ozzy grins, pushing the menu away from himself. When the waitress comes over, the boys repeat their orders to her and begin their wait.  They’re all three hungry and ansty for the food to arrive.

 

“So, what was you guys’ day like?” Ozzy asks, crumpling his straw wrapper into a tiny ball.

 

“Well,” Troy starts, “Probably nothing compared to yours.”  He glances at Julian, unsure of how much he’d want to share.  “I watched TV and tried not to get sick for most of the morning.  Then Julian tried making me breakfast, but we just talked instead of eating.”  Troy laughs quietly to cover the awkwardness. 

 

Julian fiddles with his napkin, remembering their earlier conversation suddenly.  “How was yours, Oz?”

 

Ozzy sighs, “Uh, you know.  Work. Paul was gone  _ again _ today, so I ended up on his register and covering for a few hours. I don’t like being back on the register,” he says.  He sinks in on himself a bit. He hates talking about his job. 

 

“You’re welcome to stay however long you need, by the way,” Ozzy says, desperate for a change in subject.

 

“I was hoping to get back on the road tonight,” Troy says.  He takes the discarded paper from his straw and folds it in half.  He toys with telling Ozzy about his plans to flee his past and start over, but he doesn’t remember telling Ozzy he’s in college in the first place.  It’ll all be unnecessary personal information told over again, probably making Julian even more uncomfortable. Maybe after he eats Troy’s energy will spike and he’ll be able to get back in his car after all.  

 

“You’ve been so kind to let me stay as long as I have already.”  Troy folds the paper wrapper again. “Julian said you were the one who wanted to stop and help in the first place, and, well, I’m grateful.”

 

Ozzy smiles, “You’re more than welcome, ol’ Scrooge here is just wary of picking up perfect strangers on the side of the road.”  Ozzy swats a hand in the air, “What’s there to be scared of anyway?” he jokes. 

 

Julian shakes his head, “But I’m really glad we did anyway.  You’re really welcome back anytime you want, dude. And when you get wherever you’re going maybe we’ll come visit. Just make sure it’s somewhere nice, preferably with some sun,” he says.  Ozzy raises his brows. He’s not clear on what they mean, and looks to Troy for clarification.

 

“I’m, uh, running away, I guess,” Troy says.  It sounds silly now. He flattens the straw paper under his thumb.  “Getting away from...the things give me problems.” He raises his head to ensure he’s taken seriously.  “I’m staying clean for good, and I can’t at school or around my folks. I gotta start over.” He swallows and goes on, voicing thoughts that have only just occurred to him.  “I can get to Florida in less than a day. I wouldn’t mind being in a different state than my family. And like you said, it’s sunny.” He smiles.

 

Julian beams, “To be fair, if you moved to the middle of nowhere we’d still visit but I am much more excited about the idea of visiting you in Florida.” Ozzy nods in agreement.

 

“Well, that sounds really good for you. Shaking up the scenery can really help when you’re trying to quit something,” he says.  He glances at Julian to make sure he’s not wrongfully taking his words personally. “We’ll definitely be around to visit if you’ll have us.”

 

“Of course.  That’ll be great,” Troy says.  “It’ll probably take me a little while to get set up, but having friends come by, I like that.”  It’ll be good to keep him on track, too. A little piece of accountability to ensure he doesn’t slip up.  But he doesn’t say that part. A server arrives at the table with their food, and all thoughts are redirected.

 

“This is so good,” Ozzy grins after a bite, coming away with a spot of ketchup on his mouth. He wipes it away with a napkin.  “I can’t believe you guys came to the  _ best _ burger spot in town and got French fries and chicken tenders,” Ozzy teases. 

 

“Well, when we were talking earlier, I did ask for the best French fry spot in town,” Troy jokes back.  He pulls the cherry off the top of his milkshake and lays it on his napkin before sticking his straw into it and taking a sip.  It’s simple and delicious, and the sugar seems to be running through Troy’s veins immediately. “And best shakes too. Unless I’m just having a moment after not eating for too long.”

 

Julian laughs, taking a sip of Ozzy’s strawberry shake.  He hums. “Yeah, definitely the best shakes in town,” he wipes his lips, dipping a french fry into the whipped cream on top and taking a bite, “I’m sure that your last twenty-four hours only enhanced it, though.”  He grins, taking the other bite and finishing the fry.

 

Troy laughs too.  “Yeah, it has for sure.”  He bites two fries at once, but forces himself to chew slowly.  He wouldn’t put it past his body to get sick again from eating too fast, and there’s no way he’s letting that happen.  After the the deep conversations he’s had this afternoon, Troy feels out of practice with small talk. “You guys come here a lot?” he asks.  

 

Ozzy shrugs, “It’s a good spot after a night out.  Great hangover food, anyway. This one swears by it,” he says, gesturing towards Julian with a laugh.  Julian blinks, glancing uncomfortably at Troy before looking back at his fries. 

 

“I’m sure it’s good any time of day,” Troy says.  “I’ve spent plenty of time looking for breakfast at 3am.”  He gives a soft smile and shakes his head. “Not that I’m...too proud of that.”  He takes a long sip of his shake, then stirs it with his straw and asks, “So, you guys from around here?  Or relocate for the university, or just for, you know, a change?”

 

Ozzy nods, “Well I moved here with some of my friends… just for a change, really… I’m from a really small town about two hours away.” 

 

Julian takes another long sip of Ozzy’s milkshake, granting a playful scowl from his boyfriend, whose dessert is quickly disappearing.  “I go to school in the city, my folks live about five hours or so away,” Julian says, sliding the milkshake back towards Ozzy and holding his hands up in surrender. 

  
“Where are you from?” Ozzy asks.

 

“I was born in New Orleans,” Troy says, breaking a fry in half and popping it into his mouth.  “That’s where my dad’s from. I have a lot of family there. But we moved to Alabama when I was real little, so Mobile’s just as much home.”  

 

He chews for a moment, then says, “I’ve been driving through a lot since I started college, from school, to my parents’, to my grandparents’...”  He shakes his head. “It’s starting to feel like the highway’s a much a home as anywhere else.”

 

Ozzy tilts his head to the side, “That’s a lot of back and forth. I  _ knew _ you were from Alabama! I have family there, that accent is unmistakable.  But yours is not as heavy as my family’s,” he says, taking another bite of his burger. 

 

“Never can hide it.”  Troy grins. “You should hear the rest of my family, though.  My mom’s Canadian, so she’s only picked it up a little, but my dad, oh man.  And my sister Frances, she’s done a lot of waitressing, and you wouldn’t believe all the ‘yes ma’ams’ and ‘yes sirs,’ that come out of her mouth.  Talk about southern sweetness.” 

 

The hair on Troy’s arms stands up as he thinks ahead to what he’s going to tell Fran later tonight.  He immediately appeases his own anxiety with the knowledge that she’ll be kind and fair, but the chill remains.  He sweeps the last few fries in his basket into a neater pile and bites into one.

 

“All my extended family’s from Colorado,” Julian shrugs, “Just a bunch of wanna-be snowboarders up there, and lots of folks moving to be  _ closer to nature _ ,” he rolls his eyes with a smirk. He tries to remember the last time he’s been home.  It has to have been at least two years now. “None of that southern charm up there, though.”

 

“Must be lovely, with the mountains and all,” Troy says.  “I spent some summers in Vancouver when I was a kid, and I can’t imagine how it would look in the winter with all that snow.”  For the first time in his life, he wonders if he’d like to travel. It’ll take him a while to save up, assuming he can get a job in the first place, but he really will be free to do whatever he likes.  Troy drains the last of his milkshake and leans back against the booth. 

 

“Yeah, it’s really pretty up there,” Julian smiles fondly, “My grandma’s got a cabin up there.  Maybe we’ll go visit someday. After our trip to sunshiney Florida, of course,” he turns one corner of his lips up. 

 

“You really will have to.”  Troy replies. “I’ll make a goal of mine to get a place with a guest room.”  He swallows his last French fry, then wipes the grease from his hand. He sees the waitress approaching, and he pulls his wallet from his pocket under the table.  Troy reaches for the bill. “My treat,” he says.

 

“You sure? You don’t have to -,” Julian says, having reached for his wallet as well.  But Troy’s already handing his cash to the waitress. “Thanks, we really appreciate it.  We’ll get it next time,” Julian smiles, tossing a few ones on the table for a tip.

 

The boys head home, now a bit more energized for the walk back. 

 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Ozzy declares as they step into the living room from outside. Julian nods, “I’m beat. But I’ll wait for you to take a nap,” he says with a smile, plopping down on the couch as Ozzy heads upstairs to the shower.  Julian sprawls out, now that he’s no longer starving, the full effects of his lack of sleep are creeping in. He wants nothing more than to doze off right now, but Troy seems a bit antsy as he sits down in the chair. 

 

“Thinking about anything in particular?” Julian asks, tilting his head to the side.

 

“I have to call Fran,” Troy says, putting his elbows on his knees and running his hand through his hair.  He knows in the end things will be fine. They were when he talked to her this morning, and that had been the difficult talk, breaking the news that he’d been on the pills again.  Troy’s an adult, and he can do what he wants with his life, regardless of what his family says. He’s afraid of disapproval, though. Even if he knows that’s not the emotion his sister will exude, she’ll feel abandoned.  Left out. And Troy dreads being the one to make her feel that way.

 

He takes his phone and holds it between his stump and his hand.  He looks at Julian and bites his lip. “I don’t mean to make you keep babysitting me,” Troy sighs.  “But, do you mind just...staying? I don’t even know what I’m feeling, but she’s the person I’m closest with in the whole world and I’m afraid of breaking her heart.”

 

Julian furrows his brow, shaking his head. He feels a heavy weight sink in his chest for Troy.  “Of course I don’t mind, Troy. Do you, uh, wanna run what you want to say by me first? You know, just get your thoughts in order?  You don’t have to or anything, I just thought it might be easier than just jumping right in on the phone.”

 

“Yeah, I…”  Troy lets out his breath.  “Thanks.” He pauses, getting together a few sentences of what he wants to say, plus some backstory for Julian’s benefit.  “I know I told you some of this earlier, but, growing up, our parents weren’t real close to us, so we looked out for each other.  My mom stopped working for a while when I had the accident and got hooked the first time, but Frances was...the one who actually helped.”  He swallows his anxiety and continues. “When I left for college, of course we expected to drift a little, but she still checked in more than my mom and dad.  I know this, her checking up on me and being my friend, means as much to her as it does to me. So, me leaving, I want her to know it’s for a good reason. That I’m not running off because I hate her or anything, because I don’t.  There’s just...a lot more I have to take into account.”

 

Julian lets out a breath. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.  “She’ll be proud of you, man. She’ll understand. You  _ are _ doing this for a good reason.  It’s a good thing, remember that,” Julian says, offering a reassuring smile.

 

“She’ll ask if she can come pick me up, or want me to come stay with her or something.  It’s all from a place of love, but I’ve got to figure it out on my own. I’m the only one that can pull myself out of this.  And I’ll still call her every week,” Troy says. He feels the corners of his mouth perk up. “And I’ll probably pick up more often than I’ve been doing lately.”  He polishes the screen of his phone on the knee of his jeans, then scrolls through his contacts until he finds Fran’s name. “Here goes nothing,” he murmurs.

 

Julian nods, hoping to offer some sense of security to Troy, but he’s not sure if he is or not. He watches as Troy raises the phone to his ear. It must have only rang no more than twice before she answers. She cares about him a lot, that much is evident. Julian wishes that he had someone checking in on him like that, but he’s burned his bridges with his family and almost all of his friends, well, besides Ozzy anyway. Troy sits up straighter, and Julian can tell she’s on the other end.

 

“Hey, Frannie,” Troy says.  “I said I’d call you back, didn’t I?”  He pauses, probably listening to his sister speak.  “Yeah, I’m alright. Still staying with friends. Listen, Fran, I have to tell you.  I’ve been thinking. And I want to get away from this bad stuff for good.”

 

Julian holds his chin in his hands, listening.  He can’t quite make out what she’s saying, although he does hear her voice murmuring on the other end. 

 

“Yeah, yeah… I know that, but,” Troy says, but Fran says something else. Julian hopes it’s going well, but he can’t exactly tell. Troy rubs a hand over his neck as she finishes talking. “I mean it this time, though,” he says. Julian bites his lip, knowing that Troy is working up the courage to say what he needs to really say. He finally watches Troy take in a deep breath. “So I’m not, uh, I’m not going back to school.”

 

Frances starts to interrupt him, but Troy thinks it will be easier to get the words out all at once.  If he lets her start trying to convince him to do something else, he’ll only succumb to emotion. The last vestiges of his withdrawal still make him want to start bawling.  “I’m gonna go out on my own. Drive to Florida, get a job, get an apartment. I have to get away from everything I know right now if I’m gonna get clean for good. I don’t mean to be leaving you behind.  It’s just everything else. I’ll keep in touch with you, Fran, I promise.” Troy steals a glance at Julian, and he echoes his words from earlier. “You can come and visit me in the sunshine, once I’ve got all settled.”

 

Julian’s lips pulled into a smile.  He’s only known Troy for a matter of a day, but he feels proud of him. It’s hard explain things like this to people who didn’t get it, no matter how well-meaning.  _ That _ part he does understand. Julian nods and gives a thumbs up, hoping to encourage Troy.

 

Troy smiles back half-heartedly as he listens to his sister in his ear. He feels a lump formed in his throat as he mutters a, “Yeah, okay Fran. You too,” before hanging up.  

 

He lets out his breath and holds his phone clenched in his hand for a moment before looking back up to Julian.  “Well,” he says. “I have a feeling I’m gonna be explaining myself for the next decade. But at least she says she supports me.  The getting clean part. She thinks I’m crazy going off on my own, but she’s my big sister. I can’t really blame her for that one.”

 

Julian shrugs, “Someone’s gotta worry about you.  That’s what sisters are for, or so I’ve heard.” Troy looks on the verge of tears, if Julian didn’t know better.  He realizes for perhaps the first time how hard this had to have been for him. Julian’s not sure he has anyone he’s that worked up over.  “How are you feeling, really?”

 

Troy takes stock of himself.  As the emotional stress starts to ebb away, it leaves a shaky adrenaline rush that mixes badly with the remnants of his physical symptoms.  He feels almost sick again. But he just needs a few deep breaths. Maybe a sip of water. And a good night’s sleep. 

 

“Ugh,” Troy sighs.  “Weird. Not as good as I was a little while ago.  But I’ll be alright.” He wipes the heel of his hand over one eye and his stump over the other.  “Just gotta...get myself to stop thinking about it. Then I’ll be fine.”

 

“You did really well, I know that wasn’t easy for you,” Julian says with a nod, “So you should feel good about that.” Julian stretches, the sun is starting to go down and he can’t believe he’s still got his eyes open.  Yesterday and today have meshed together in one weird, long daze. “CSI is always a good distraction,” he winks, gesturing towards the remote. He stretches out his back and yawns. The fries and shake in his stomach are making him feel even more sleepy.  “Do you uh, need anything?” he asks, rubbing a hand over the top of his hair. 

 

“Naw, you’ve given me more than enough,” Troy says.  There’s still a water bottle on the table from this morning, and he reaches for it, downing a long gulp before taking the remote instead.  “And I’ve really messed up your routine. Get some rest.” He turns on the TV and finds his show on an obscure cable channel.

 

Julian grips the back of his neck, his eyelids are drooping a bit already.  “Yeah, I think that’s gonna have to happen soon,” he grins sheepishly, closing his eyes for a moment before willing himself to stand.  “Um, Max’s bed upstairs is still open for you. Waters are in the fridge, so is food. Help yourself to whatever,” he says, standing and heading towards the stairs.  “Make sure you get some good rest before getting on the road, alright?”

 

“Yeah, I will,” Troy promises.  He’s definitely going to have to catch a few hours’ sleep before driving.  The food had perked him up, but now he’s tired again. “Thank you,” he tells Julian.  “For everything.”

 

Julian nods from the stairs,  “Anytime. Just, uh... next time under better circumstances, yeah?”  He grins as he heads up the stairs to bed, leaving Troy alone in the living room.

 

“Oh, yeah.  For sure,” Troy agrees.  He tips his head back against the chair’s cushions and tries to get into the rerun.  He recognizes the episode as the one where all the characters pass around the flu, and his heart pangs with new sympathy.  Troy takes another sip of water and works on convincing himself to settle down.

 

Ozzy comes down the stairs, his hair damp still from the shower.  He’s got a towel draped over his shoulders. He pads into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.

 

“I didn’t realize you’d still be awake. I don’t think I’m quite as tired as Julian, he’s already passed out in bed,” Ozzy laughs.

 

“I should be tired,” Troy says.  “I think Julian got an hour or two more than I did, but that still wasn’t anywhere near enough.”  He laughs softly. “I’m gonna turn in soon. I just can’t quite get my brain to turn off.”

 

“Ah,” Ozzy nods.  Julian had been snoring when he’d gone into the bedroom, something he never did unless he was exhausted.  Ozzy couldn’t imagine how tired that made Troy. He hummed, taking a sip of his water, “CSI? Do you mind if I join you for a bit?”

 

“Not at all,” Troy says.  “It’s an old episode, but this show never gets old.”

 

“No, it’s one of my favorites, too… Julian’s not a big fan so I can never find someone to watch it with,” Ozzy smirks.

 

“Well, I’m not sure how I got so into it.  My dad’s a cop,” Troy explains, “So it’s too much for him most of the time.  My mom and my sisters are too soft and sweet. They’d rather be watching  _ The Bachelor _ .”  He cracks a grin.

 

Ozzy laughs, “They don’t know what they’re missing out on. A cop, that must be…” he searches for the right word, “intense.”

 

“Mm, yeah, he kind of is,” Troy says, torn between respect and honesty.  “He’s a...a ‘heritage not hate’ kind of guy. He’s not bad, not really. But he’s not good either.  He thinks he is, and that’s his problem.” He shakes his head absently. “We don’t get along real well anymore.”

 

Ozzy hums, “Yeah, I’m sure that’s hard… it’s hard to try and get someone to see where they’re wrong when they, uh, don’t think that they are.”  Ozzy picks at his thumbnail for a moment, “It’s that way with a lot of people. Most people think they’re good people.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Troy replies.  He folds his hand around his stump in his lap.  “Except the really good ones. They think the’re just ordinary.  Or they’re too hard on themselves. Frances, for one.” He glances at Ozzy, but looks away before he can establish eye contact.  “And Julian. He’s helped me out so much these last couple days. You both have.”

 

The corner of Ozzy’s lip twitch. “Yeah, he is really good, isn’t he?”  He breathes deep, sitting back, “He doesn’t think that he is at all. I don’t think he even thinks he’s ordinary.  But he is good. I’m sure Frances is too.” He smiles.

 

“Fran’s the best sister I could’ve ever asked for.  Probably the only person in my family I’m gonna stay in touch with, at least for now.  But the only things she ever says about herself are all negatives, about being overweight and all.  There’s so much more to her than that, but she just doesn’t see it. She’d rather think about taking care of me.”  The phone call is still fresh in Troy’s mind. He looks up at the TV for a moment, then lets the emotions keep flowing.

 

“Julian and I were talking earlier,” Troy says to Ozzy, “And I know he’s been through a lot.  But, for all of that, I don’t think I’ve ever met a stronger guy. He says you’re the nice one, but you both are, really.”

 

Ozzy raises his brows before letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  He has a twinge of jealousy as he realizes Julian’s opened up to Troy much faster than he ever opened up to him. I t disappears as fast as it arrived though, and he’s mostly just happy Julian decided to talk to someone in the first place.  “He is… um, he is really strong,” Ozzy says, “Sometimes I think he’s a little… too strong. He thinks he has to keep it all bottled up, but he doesn’t… not really.” Then he realizes he’s rambling about a less-significant part of Troy’s statement. “He’s really nice, he just mostly keeps to himself. He took to you, though, and he doesn’t take to many,” Ozzy smirks.

 

“Well, we kind of have a lot in common, and it’s rare to find that.  It has been for me, anyway. An accident, an addiction…” He shakes his head.  “Who’d’ve thought I’d run into somebody with the same things in their past?” He chuckles softly.  “And sometimes I think it’s easier to talk to a stranger. Someone who can just see where you are now and not all your baggage.  It’s tougher with loved ones, because they see all your baggage and love you anyway, even when you don’t think you deserve it.” It’s all out of Troy’s mouth before he’s even sure what he’s talking about.  “That’s...my problem with Fran, I think. It’s hard to let her care about me, maybe more than she cares about herself.”

 

Ozzy mulls over the words, feeling a weight in his chest. “Julian… he’s… he just doesn’t say anything, ever. I just figure out he’s upset or sad or whatever because some nights he comes home drunk.  Other nights he doesn’t. It’s really frustrating, because I feel like maybe if he told me how he was feeling I could help,” he laughs dryly, “but I’m not sure anyone can really help… with that.” He swallows, “It’s good that you have someone who loves you so much. It’s good that you’re keeping her in the loop. I’m sure that means a lot to her.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure it does,” Troy says.  He lets out his breath. He’s not sure it’s his place to give relationship advice, especially when he’s a guest in their home under such odd circumstances.  He’s grateful for the opportunity he had to really talk things out with Julian, to make strides in reconciling his past with someone who truly understands, but now he feels guilty.  Troy stands by what he said, that sometimes opening up to a stranger is easier. He’s told Julian more than he’s ever spilled to Fran. But this seems somehow different. 

 

“Listen, It might not be for me to say, but I think Julian… just doesn’t know how to get started,” Troy says.  “He feels things, and he doesn’t like it. He thinks if he says something, you’re not going to like it. So it’s easier to just push it all down.”

 

Ozzy leans forward, the weight shifting in his chest. 

 

“I guess... I just wish that I could make him stop feeling those things,” Ozzy says, “But… I think he thinks he deserves to feel that way.” He shakes his head ruefully, “But he doesn’t, and… well, Frances would agree with me when I say, neither do you.”

 

Troy laughs, but cuts himself off with a yawn that he stifles behind his hand.  “You’re reading her mind! How’d you get so good?” He sighs. “I know i’m being illogical, but sometimes I think I deserve it.  And I know where Julian’s coming from when he thinks he deserves it too, though I don’t think that’s right. I guess life’s never gonna work out real nicely, just the way you want.  You have to work at it. I have to work at it.”   
  


Ozzy bites his thumbnail, mulling over Troy’s words for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, you’re right I think. I guess... I probably need to be more patient with him. It’s just hard sometimes,” Ozzy sighs. “But you can’t make someone believe they deserve something.”

 

“I know, it’s hard,” Troy says, scrubbing his hand up over his eyes.  “Fran and I run in circles about that. Or at least we did, before I, you know, ignored her for the past little while.  We’re both too hard on ourselves, always saying the other one deserves better. But the truth is we’re too alike. We empathize too much.  If we could both just realize that at the same time…” He shrugs. Sleepiness is beginning to catch up with him, but he picks up the water bottle from the coffee table and drains it, taking a last step to ensure he’s done all he can to heal his body before he turns in.

 

Ozzy smiles tiredly, “In a perfect world, huh?”  He shifts from his seat, standing. “I’m gonna head to bed, I think. I don’t have to go in until noon tomorrow, so you want to stick around for breakfast?”

 

“Uh,” Troy hesitates.  “Yeah. That’ll...that’ll be nice.”  He wants to get back on the road as early as possible and placate some of his restlessness about the future, but he needs to take  a breath. Move slowly. It’s been less than twelve hours since he was slowly dehydrating in a crumpled heap of shakes and sickness.  It’ll be better if he leaves knowing he has strength. Troy turns off the TV and gets to his feet too, stretching out his wingspan. “I definitely need a good night’s sleep.  Thanks again for giving me somewhere to crash.”

 

“‘Course, you’re welcome any time,” Ozzy smiles, leading the way upstairs. The boys open their respective doors, Troy just down the hallway from Ozzy.

 

“Hey, Troy, just remember to take care of yourself, okay?” Ozzy says down the hall. 

 

“Oh, I will,” Troy replies.  “Same to you. And Julian. He could probably use a little being taken care of after I’ve had him up half the night looking out for me.”  He waits for Ozzy’s smile of acknowledgement, then slips into the bedroom. He’s dressed in clean clothes, even though they’re jeans, so he heads right for the bed.  Troy stretches out, too tired to think about going back down to rummage in his duffle for his toothbrush. He pulls the covers up to his shoulders, and he’s almost instantly asleep.

 

***

 

Meanwhile, Ozzy slowly opens the bedroom door, peeking in at Julian, who’s still soundly snoring in the bed.  He never sleeps this hard, and Ozzy can’t help but grin when he sees him. He feels a weight sinking in his chest.  He’s spent so much time being too hard on Julian. He’s been so caught up in wanting Julian to talk that he hadn’t even heard what he had to say.  He steps across the room slowly, climbing into bed beside the sleeping boy. Julian stirs from his sleep at the movement.

 

“Oz,” he says, his voice raspy from sleep. He pulls a sleepy grin, shifting to make room.

 

“I’m so tired,” Julian laughs groggily.

 

“Hey, Julian,” Ozzy whispers, running a hand through Julian’s hair.  Julian blinks, opening his eyes for only the second time since Ozzy entered the room.

 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”  He asks, and Julian at first pulls a confused grin, but he hums.

 

“Yeah. I know that,” he says, wrapping his arm over Ozzy’s chest and burrowing his face into his neck. In no time at all, he’s asleep again, and Ozzy has to wonder if he’d ever really woken up at all. He smirks, closing his own eyes too.

 

***

 

When Troy jars from sleep, he’s sweltering.  He sits up in bed, taking in his surroundings and again remembers where he is and what’s been happening over the last two days.  He wonders if he’s spiking a fever again, but when he brings his hand up to his own forehead, it’s no warmer than the ambient air temperature.  He supposes he was just sleeping hard. 

 

Troy squints at the alarm clock on the bedside table.  It’s a little after three in the morning. It had still been early when he’d gone to sleep, so he’s not surprised that he feels alert despite the hour.  He lies back against the pillows and takes a few deep breaths, seeing if sleep will come back to him. Now that his thoughts are moving, though, they won’t slow down.  He doesn’t remember the exact route back to the highway, but Troy imagines there won’t be traffic at this hour. He could cruise the interstate until sunup, then grab breakfast at a fast-food joint…

 

But he’d told Ozzy last night that he’d have breakfast here.  Troy lets out his breath and clasps his hand over his stump on top of the blankets.  He likes spending time with his new friends. He feels indebted to them, but also connected.  Like family. But he can’t keep leaning on them. Every time he says  _ thank you _ or  _ I’m sorry _ , he internally cringes, knowing the words have to be grating on Ozzy and Julian after hearing them so many times.  Troy means them honestly. And he doesn’t know what else to say.

 

The open road flashes through Troy’s mind again, and he throws his feet over the edge of the bed.  He’s unsteady for a second, but his balance comes back. He’s still weak and drained from the illness of withdrawal, but he’s happy to feel as good as he does.  Staying here for another couple days or even another couple hours isn’t going to do much in the grand scheme of things. It’ll only keep him anxious and guilty. 

 

That’s exactly what Troy feels, though, as he makes the bed neatly and pads down the stairs.  His bag is beside the front door, ready to be taken out to the mustang, which is parked serenely in the driveway.  Troy puts on his shoes and reaches for the duffle’s handles, but he hesitates. He has to go. But he can’t with no notice like this.  

 

He sighs and slips into the kitchen.  The envelope he’d been playing with during breakfast with Julian is still on the edge of the bar, and Troy flips it over to the blank side.  He finds a pencil, and scribbles  _ Thank you so much for everything.  I’m sorry to go like this, but I have to be on my way.  Please do keep in touch, and you’re welcome to visit anytime as soon as I’m back on my feet. _  Troy signs his name and adds his phone number, hoping his scrawl is legible.  He lines the pencil up with the edge of the envelope and leaves them prominently in the center of the countertop.  Then he slings his bag over his shoulder and opens the front door.

 

***

 

Ozzy wakes up before Julian, which is a rarity. Julian’s on his back, his hand draped over his chest as it slowly rises and falls. Ozzy grins.

 

“Hey, hey wake up,” Ozzy whispers, and Julian squeezes his eyes tighter before opening them. He rubs a hand over his eyes.

 

“Oh… oh gosh, what time is it?” He asks, noticing the sun beaming through the window. Julian is usually awake before seven am. It’s never been quite this toasty when he peels himself from the bed in the mornings. 

 

“Ten am. You must’ve been exhausted,” Ozzy smirks, and Julian grunts, stretching as he yawns. 

 

“Guess so,” he says with a blushing grin. “We should see if Troy’s up… he’s probably starved.”

 

Ozzy nods, pulling Julian up by his hands. Ozzy pulls a pair of shorts over his boxers and leads the way from the bedroom. There’s an eerie silence in the house, and Julian wonders for a sickening split second if Troy’s passed out in one of the rooms. He knocks on Max’s bedroom door and frowns at the silence that follows.

 

“Troy?” He asks through the door. 

 

“Hey Julian,” Ozzy calls from downstairs. Julian walks to the guardrail of the stairs and looks down. Ozzy is holding the envelope in his hand. He flips it around to show Julian from afar.

 

“He says he had to go,” Ozzy paraphrases, “left his number.”

 

Julian hums, gripping the budding mullet on the back of his neck.

 

“Looks like pancakes for two, then,” he smiles, heading down the stairs.

 

“Yeah. He was really nice, I’ll miss him,” Ozzy frowned, sitting down at the bar.

 

“Well,” Julian says, “Next time we hang out, maybe he’ll be able to enjoy it too.”

 

Ozzy bites the inside of his cheek, “I hope he’ll stick with it this time.”

 

Julian shrugs, “I think he’s got a good head on his shoulders.” He opens the nearly-empty carton of orange juice and takes a swig from the carton.

 

He takes another swig before laughing. 

 

“Well, hey. Next time you try to convince me we should pick up a stranger on the side of the road, I might listen better,” Julian grins.


End file.
